Short Circuits
by HolidayBoredom
Summary: A dumping-ground for my unbeta'd, one-shot brain-dribbles! From dinner dates to male birthing, proposals, haircuts, clone growing and a little bit of casual heartbreak. A bit of everything so I hope you enjoy! Chapter 21 - Cora mesmerises her family, as per usual.
1. Short Circuits

**Guess who has work that they're supposed to be doing...?**

* * *

Short Circuits

"Red or white, Holly?"

Artemis coughed. "Er, Father," he said. "Holly can't drink alcohol with humans. Remember?"

"Oh." Artemis Senior smiled jovially and sat back in his seat. "Of course, silly me."

Holly glanced at the ceiling, appearing to feel, for perhaps the thirtieth time that evening, the most awkward she had ever felt in her life. The twenty-year-old beside her took a breath.

"But she is, however, perfectly capable of driving our cars" he said quickly. "I've proposed a trip to the garage tomorrow – thought we might take something for a spin."

Angeline smiled. "That sounds like a lovely idea, dear."

Her son smiled back, thanking her silently. At least Mother had been attempting to make this dinner vaguely bearable.

"You have an interest in cars do you, Holly?" inquired Artemis Senior.

Holly forced down a mouthful of courgette. "Er… I've never driven one before but they look… fun."

"Oh yes, they are. Though I don't suppose you'll have a licence yet. How old did you say you were again, Holly?"

"Eighty three."

"Ah, yes. I remember…"

He brought his wineglass to his lips, looking pointedly at his wife over the rim. Angeline's lips thinned.

"Holly was driving shuttles before any of us were even thought of," commented Artemis, sawing at a parsnip with perhaps more force than was necessary. "I think she will be able to handle the Jaguar, licence or no."

_Say something._

Holly swallowed thickly. "Are they your cars, Mr Fowl?" she asked on her first free mouthful.

The elder man tore his gaze away from his wife's. "Most of them. Most of them were passed down to me from my father and my father's father. Classics. You shall have to be careful with them. They're not built like the spaceships you're apparently more used to–"

"I've put you in the Faraday Suite tonight, Holly," interrupted Angeline. "I hope you will find it comfortable."

Holly was forced to smile. "No doubt. Everything in this house is comfortable. I'll have to be careful not to grow too used to it."

Artemis's hand stroked hers under the table, gently persuading her to perhaps become used to it.

"At least you'll find it preferable to the last guestroom you were hosted in," said Artemis Senior, drawing back her attention. "I feel a room is much improved by outside air access and a door with an inside handle."

"_Timmy_," hissed Angeline. "Ignore him," she said to Holly. "He's always a little flippant after a few glasses."

"Flippant?" laughed Artemis Senior. "Our son is dating a mythological creature."

"We have been over this, Timmy. How can you still insist she is a delusion?"

"I'm not saying she is a delusion, Angeline – he is a clever boy and has obviously found a way to convincingly mimic sentient intelligence."

"_She is a guest."_

"She is a robot hobgoblin, Angeline, and I will no longer sit here and indulge this lunacy in silence."

Artemis stared at his progenitor. "_A robot hobgoblin?_"

Holly glanced at the ceiling again.

"A robot–" Artemis was beside himself. "_What? _What are you _talking_ about?"

"You need help," said Artemis Senior bluntly.

"You think she's a _robot_?"

"I think she is the direct result of my poor parenting."

"_Why would I purchase a robot fairy and bring her to dinner as my date?_"

"I don't know, Arty. I've been pondering much the same question since our charming guest arrived at 4pm."

Angeline massaged the skin between her eyes. "My dear, she is _eating _with us."

"But not drinking!" cried Artemis Senior, as if laying down a trump in cards. "Because she cannot eat with _humans, _Angeline, remember?"

"Because of her _creed _not because she might _short circuit_!"

"Hey!" snapped Holly, holding up her hands. "Guys! Fowls! _Mud Men!_"

All three humans turned to look at her.

"Look," she said calmly. "This has been a lovely evening and all, but I think I'm going to leave."

"No." Artemis's face fell. "Holly, please–"

"Arty," said Holly sharply. "Your dad thinks I'm made of plastic. I really think that's my cue."

Angeline got to her feet. "Please, Holly, you are our guest. Excuse my husband's rudeness, he forgets himself."

"Yes!" joined Artemis Senior. "Where are my manners? You must be weary of our human chatter, Holly, feel free to plug yourself in and help yourself to more gnocchi."

"Yep," said the elf. "Still going to leave."

Angeline glared at her husband.

"Look at what you've done!" she snapped. "You've ruined the entire evening!"

His eyebrows shot up. "_I _have ruined the evening? It was our first-born who decided to invite the cyborg to dine."

Said first-born ignored him. "Holly, please, don't go! Perhaps a little _Mesmer_–?"

"I wanted to meet your parents properly, Artemis, conscious and with a full grasp of their wits. Seems like tonight's just not that night."

"Thank you, Father," said Artemis stiffly as Holly rose from her seat. "You have managed to embarrass both me, mother _and_ alienate the woman I love."

Artemis Senior looked at Holly. "Run, my dear, run for your life."

"I'm a robot," she said dryly, "remember? I don't have a life."

_"Holly,"_ pleaded Artemis. "Holly, please! Don't go!"

But she continued to stride towards the doors. Angeline threw her napkin down, starting after her. The eldest Fowl sat back in his chair.

"Holly!" shouted their son.

Her hand stretched out for the doorknob.

Artemis stood up. "_Over ride code 8779676, Hollybot shutdown!"_

The elf jerked mid-step, her fingers twitching, her shoulders shuddering, before her upper-torso flopped forward at the waist. Her eyes dimmed and grew glassy.

"Oh my God," whispered Angeline.

Artemis Senior sighed and got to his feet. He tossed his napkin onto his plate and walked forwards.

"We'll call Doctor Hammstein in the morning," he said, patting his son on the shoulder as he left.

* * *

**Again, I have work to be doing... So this dribbles out of my brain. **

**Just a oneshot - unusual for me. **

**Review, please? And give me a little essay motivation? I desperately need it... **


	2. Butlercise

**Guess I've found a new love of one-shots just as I was trying to quit... **

**Ah well. **

**This is a gift for Rocket Axxonu by small way of apology.**

**It's clean as a whistle 'cept one use of a British semi-swearword for bum :P**

* * *

Butlercise

"Which is exactly why we sold the first accounts."

Artemis Fowl kicked the door shut behind him. He heard the _thunk_ a split second later as six pneumatic bolts sunk into their titanium housings. No-one was getting into his apartment now; not without his fingerprints, password, personal scent or a pitch-perfect, hummed rendition of 'Ashes to Ashes' – not unless they had ten elephants to spare anyway (or perhaps four Butlers). Not if they were human.

"No," he continued, looping his scarf free from about his neck. "Briggs was appointed head of the Hong Kong deal. I wanted _you_ to negotiate with Dubai."

He strode across the room, dropping his phone onto what looked like a hammock built for hamsters. A man's face immediately flickered to life above it, the hologram so detailed and clear you could see the sweat beading in his ashen hairline.

"_I– I am dealing with Dubai, Doctor Fowl_," stuttered the figure. "_They're just being stubborn. I sent Farnes last week–_"

"Farnes is far too green to be dealing with those people."

"_He's a clever man_–"

"He is an _educated_ man – there is a difference." The twenty-four-year-old sighed and rubbed at the skin between his eyes. "But never mind this now, Faraday, it's getting late. No doubt Marissa is already making rude gestures at me out of sight."

The man's eyes flickered to the left, and Artemis knew he was catching his wife's. Faraday gave a small laugh and smiled.

"She apologises, Doctor."

The younger man shook his head. "Goodnight, Nicholas."

"Goodnight, sir."

Faraday's image faded, a streak of long brown hair just sneaking into shot before he fully vanished. Artemis stared at the spot a moment more before sighing and pulling off his overcoat.

Ten minutes later and he was slumped in the centre of his living-room sofa, his bare feet propped on a faux-leather pouffe and a cup of Darjeeling cradled in his hands. He closed his eyes and breathed in the steam. It was comfortingly floral, like the Manor conservatory on a Sunday morning... He smiled at the thought of home. He hadn't been back in over five months. Perhaps he should charter a flight soon. He had some business in Edinburgh in a fortnight's time, maybe he could–

Then the black-screened television burst into life.

"_Hello, Artemis_," said a bald man at its centre.

Artemis jumped so violently he upturned his teacup, spilling boiling water all over his legs.

"_Hope I didn't scare you_," continued Domovoi Butler, as his charge cursed and slapped at his trousers.

"Butler," he spat. "What is the meaning of–?"

"_If you're trying to talk to me now, I wouldn't waste your breath. This message is pre-recorded_."

Artemis fell silent, scowling. In contrast, his ex-bodyguard grinned. He was wearing wide sunglasses against a high noon glare and a Hawaiian shirt big enough to fit a buffalo. Juliet, his eternally effervescent sister, could be seen splashing in the sea just behind him, challenging what appeared to be an entire rugby team of bulge-muscled Australians to a game of over-water volleyball.

"You are meant to be on holiday," muttered Artemis, taking his seat again. "Why must you feel the need to check on me?"

Butler had retired as Artemis's fulltime bodyguard over a year ago. It had been a wrench to come to the decision – for both of them – but Butler's chest was only getting worse. Artemis now took a younger member of the family with him when in need of proper protection; a stern-faced thirty-something called 'The Sergeant'. The rest of the time he stayed with his Butler and conducted business without much risk of assassination or kidnap. The only thing that really changed was that the aging Eurasian could now part from him whenever he wanted, and did, most often when he wished to see Juliet. During those infrequent times Artemis would either decide to fend for himself or call up Butler's younger, albeit less affable, replacement.

Domovoi Butler smiled. "_Myles assured me that this message would turn on when you were seated and suitably relaxed_."

Artemis's lips thinned. _Of course. Just so he could have me jump out of my skin_.

"_I know you've been busy this week sorting out the Middle East deals, and Myles tells me that someone called 'Farnes' is making a right pig's ear of things but…"_

A vague sense of foreboding stirred in the young man's stomach.

"_I phoned Johann at Super Fit and apparently you still managed to turn up for your circuit training session on Saturday."_

His stomach roiled a little more.

"_I was surprised, Artemis, I really was. I know how you hate circuits and I'd thought that with me out of the way you would have skipped it despite having assured me you would attend." _Butler's eyes grew hard._ "So I did a little check of the security cameras. First thing I noticed was Johann arriving to work that morning in a __1956 Jaguar XK140 Roadster."_

Artemis put his head in his hands. The Jaguar was one of his own cars. He had lent it to Johann the previous night in return for the lie. And he had specifically told the man _not_ to drive it in Manhattan.

Butler continued grimly. "_I then did a check of the security cameras inside the gym. Someone who looked very much like you, very much like you, appeared to be doing jumping jacks in the fitness suite with Johann at 19:56 which coincided with your scheduled slot… but the same person then picked his nose at 20:17 and wiped his finger on his shorts. Artemis, I know you weren't there_."

"_La Traviata _was being performed that night!" exclaimed the young man, pointlessly and childishly, he knew. "It was the last night at The Metropolitan Opera House…"

The on-screen Butler was unmoved. "_Myles has told me that there was a last night performance of some opera running that evening and yep, sure enough, I've checked the cameras at The Met Opera House and despite the very becoming ginger wig Artemis, I still know you took a seat in the second row of the parterre_."

Artemis slumped back against his sofa. _Rumbled._

His manservant leant towards the camera. "_So I know you haven't done your exercise this week_."

The man rolled his eyes "I am no longer a–"

"_And I know you're twenty four and old enough to make you own decisions on your health… but old habits die hard. And I've picked up far too many from you_."

Artemis frowned. "Now what is _that_ supposed to–?"

"_With a little help from Juliet, I've created an exercise video_–"

_Oh God._

"–_and it'll start playing once I've gone off screen."_ He looked his charge firmly in the eye. "_Artemis, I want you to do it._"

Artemis rolled his eyes and got up off the sofa, snatching up his cup and saucer and stalking away to the kitchen.

Then something began to tick in the region of his media station.

"_Now_," continued the on-screen Butler, with slight amusement in his beetle-black eyes, "_Myles has told me that there is a 98.6% chance that you will have just walked away and set off the proximity alarm. If you don't walk back towards the living area in the next ten seconds, a series of motion-sensitive paint canons will drop from the ceiling and fire at you from thirteen separate locations coating you from head to foot in a substance with Beckett assures me won't come off for five weeks. It's also apparently purple and smells strongly of horse pee._"

Artemis's jaw dropped. His hands had clenched involuntarily into fists, snapping the china handle from his teacup. For a moment he just stared at the screen, appalled… Then he took a sharp step back towards the sofa.

The ticking became fainter.

Butler grinned. "_Myles has assured me that you will have moved back by now. If so, good. If not, then I might extend this holiday a little longer–_"

"Just get on with it," growled Artemis.

As if having heard him, his manservant ploughed on. "_There should be a pair of shorts and a T-Shirt under the sofa you were sat on. And a pair of trainers._"

The young man dropped to his knees and groped under his couch. Sure enough, he pulled out a thin package containing a pair of black gym shorts and a T-Shirt he recognised from his teenage years at the Manor. There was also a pair of sneakers in his size. Someone had scrawled a smiley face onto the netting just over the toes.

"Beckett," spat Artemis, as if the name were something explicit.

"_The video will start thirty seconds after I've gone off screen_," continued Butler. "_That should be enough time for you to change. From then on, I've been told that the sensor will track your movements. If you fail to match the actions on screen by at least eighty per cent accuracy then the sensor will trigger and you'll be doused with Beckett's canons." The manservant nodded to the screen. "Good luck, Artemis, and apologies. I wish it hadn't had to come to this._"

His bodyguard faded, along with his grin, to be replaced by a small, ominous countdown. Artemis cursed and began to struggle out of his damp trousers. He almost tripped in the process, staggering sideways and causing the sensor to begin to tick again.

_I cannot _believe _this._

He ripped them down and tossed them onto the sofa. His tie slipped off easily but his buttons were proving too slow an obstacle. He undid the three at his collar and then wrenched the whole thing over his head.

_Myles! The little– _

Glancing at the screen he saw he only had ten seconds left. He yanked up the black shorts and squeezed himself into the T-Shirt. He'd grown quite a bit since he'd last worn it.

"_Randomosity_?" he muttered, looking down at his chest with disgust.

_Beckett. Of all the shirts he could have chosen…_

He stamped on his trainers without undoing the laces and looked up at the television just as his bodyguard appeared again. The old manservant was sat in a Dojo of some kind, his legs outstretched.

"_Ah!_" he said, in fake surprise. "_Artemis! Welcome to this special edition of _Butlercise! The DVD!"

"_Butlercise_–?"

The sensor began to tick again so Artemis hurriedly sat on his rump.

_Eighty per cent accurate… _

"_Right_," said the aging Eurasian. "_This DVD is broken up into three parts of which I'll be leading two. We're going to take things slow at first, just warm you up._" The manservant closed his eyes and stretched up his arms. "_Just follow me. Up…_" He took a deep breath "_and out_…" His arms swept outwards and down, exhaling slowly.

Artemis mimicked him, his face less than serene.

"_Up… and out... Up… and out. Good_."

The young man scowled. The T-Shirt was too short for him now, and every time he raised his arms it would hitch to reveal three inches of pale stomach.

"_Now bring your right arm over..." _

Artemis did as he was told and grimaced at the stretch along his side.

"_Now the other arm…."_

Chopin was playing faintly from the speakers, calming him and encouraging some form of timing to his movements.

"_Now stretch forward_."

Artemis reached out and actually gasped at the pain running up the insides of his thighs. The sensor began to tick threateningly. He forced his spine to bend further. On screen, his manservant's forehead was practically on the floor. It was indecent.

Eventually, just before Artemis thought his hips would crack, Butler straightened and the young man released a cry of relief.

"_Now_," said the manservant happily. "_Up on your feet_."

Ten minutes later and Artemis was gasping for breath. On screen, Butler's bald head was sheening slightly, but other than that you wouldn't have known he'd moved.

"_Good!_" he announced. "_You should be well and truly warmed up by now!"_

"Warmed… up?" wheezed Artemis.

"_I can hand you over now to my co-instructor to take you through the main workout._"

"Main…? _What_…?"

Water. He wanted water.

But instead he got a tall blond woman appearing on his television screen wearing a neon sports bra, long sweat pants and a tight orange headband looped over her ponytail.

"_Hey, Arty!_" beamed Juliet Butler.

Artemis swore loudly.

"_I'm here to take you through the main bit of the workout, the fun bit_!"

"No," groaned Artemis. "No, please..."

"_Now, I know my bro wants me to do something boring with you like squats and push ups and things, but circuit training is for people with no imagination so instead we're going to doing… danceasize!"_

Artemis sat down. "No," he said firmly. "No way. I shall take the five weeks of violet horse urine, thank you very much."

On screen, Juliet had grown a most unsettling smile. "_Now, Myles has told me–"_

Artemis felt a headache brewing. The sensor had started to tick again.

"–_that there's an 87.5% chance that you've just sat down and decided to take getting soaked with whatever that nasty purple stuff is that Beckett was talking about. So, he says to just remind you that he has these in his possession and that if you don't get off the couch in the next seven seconds you won't just get pelted with the horse pee liquid, he'll upload them to your company website."_

Juliet disappeared from the screen to be replaced by a high quality photo of an eighteen-year-old Artemis, doubled over, his raven head almost between his knees, trapped in the jaws of a broken deckchair. The present Artemis jumped to his feet.

"Where did he get that?" he squawked.

He had flopped into the chair one lazy afternoon before anyone had had the chance to warn him it was faulty. The head rest had swung up, clapping him on the neck, just as the frame beneath his knees had collapsed. The result had not been comfortable or dignified. Butler was visible in the picture, about to wrench the wooden frame apart and release him. Juliet was creased in the deckchair beside him, tears streaming, howling with laughter. Artemis thought he had destroyed every copy of that photo after Foaly had taken the still from a video on the Manor's CCTV and distributed it around the LEP.

_Apparently not._

Artemis fumed silently.

The image changed. This time the picture showed him at twenty-one years of age, frozen mid-bounce among a throbbing crowd. He had leapt up beside a grinning blond boy who had a long arm just looped about his shoulders. Artemis's left hand was thrust in the air, his mouth wide open, his eyes clenched shut. He was screaming, passionately, in the same way as all the other strange people around him, the collar of his sleeve-less T-Shirt pulled loose, half of his hair slicked across his forehead with sweat. As a 21st birthday present, the little demon, No.1, had taken him back in time to 1974 to see one of the Chicago dates in David Bowie's _Diamond Dogs Tour_. He had transformed himself into the blond teenager stood beside Artemis, and an hour later, when Bowie had sung 'Rebel Rebel', he had slung an arm over his best friend's rocking shoulders, clicked the camera, and this photo had been the proud result. Artemis had wanted to burn it when he first seen it but his mother had insisted on putting it safely in the family album entitled "Special Memories of Arty".

The image changed again. It was another celebration-related photo, taken shortly after Holly's promotion party when she had achieved the rank of Wing-Commander. On the night of the official celebrations, a twenty-three-year-old Artemis had become tipsy enough on sim-wine and magic that he'd unwisely tried something offered to him by Mulch from a hipflask. They had found him three days later hand-cuffed to the gates of the Forbidden City wearing nothing but an ill-fitting bowtie and the back end of a pantomime horse. The picture on screen was the mug-shot taken by the Chinese authorities. He was still wearing the bowtie and grinning winningly at the camera.

The twenty-four-year-old Artemis hissed. "Myles," he said quietly. "If you're watching this, as you _undoubtedly_ are, you had better start making plans for your safe channel out of Ireland."

The ticking noise was building to a deafening crescendo. Artemis quickly got to his feet and the noise steadied.

Juliet appeared back on screen. "_Okay?"_ she asked. "_You ready? Otherwise I'm _so_ not coming near you or your apartment for the next two months…"_

Artemis's eyes narrowed murderously.

Her grin widened in response. She jogged back from the camera until she was posed in the centre of the dance studio, a wall of mirrors lining the wall behind her.

"_Okay,_" she shouted above the pounding festival music with had just begun to boom. "_We'll take it slow, just ease you into it. Don't worry, Arty, I know what your dance skills are like!_"

Artemis felt like spitting fire. One of the few memories he had of Holly's party rose to the forefront of his mind. Something about the tango and Foaly…

"_So it's right together, left together! Right, together! Left, together! Go_!"

Artemis began to shift his feet, feeling like a complete and utter fool. Juliet was managing to do something frankly snake-like with her hips as she moved but Artemis didn't attempt it. Then the sensor began to tick angrily. His eyes widened and he introduced a sort of _bounce_ into his step. That apparently satisfied it and it steadied.

"_Keep it up!"_ encouraged Juliet. "_Now we'll move our arms as we go. Right across! Left across! Right across! Left across!"_

This took a surprising amount of his concentration. And just when he'd got the hang of it she stopped.

"_Right_!" she cried, spreading her feet wide apart and dropping so her hips were level with her knees. "_For the next bit I want you to get low like this_!"

Artemis copied her wearily, already feeling the ache in his thighs.

"_And bounce you bum_!" she continued. "_One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!"_

Artemis began to bob and within ten seconds wanted to cry.

"_Now carry on bouncing but punch to the beat!"_ called Juliet. "_Punch, two, three, four! Punch, two, three, four_!"

He jabbed weakly, and grunted, his hair falling in his eyes.

"_Now introduce a jump on the fourth beat! So it's Punch, two, three and jump! Punch, two, three and jump!"_

_Four is death_, he thought, as he complied, _I was right; four is death._

"_Now, this next one's a little weird_," warned Juliet, standing up and somehow still smiling, "_but I know you can handle it! So don't give in!"_

He grimaced. _As if I have that option._

"_Paint the wall! Paint the wall!_" Juliet trotted forward with her palms outstretched, first to the left then to the right. "_Now drop into the squat, link your hands and thrust them up over your head, that's one move. Then roll your hips around, bring your arms down and thrust your chest out."_

"_What?_" blurted Artemis.

Juliet laughed, once more as if she'd heard him. "_You'll get it, you'll get it! So it's paint the wall, paint the wall, arms, around, drop and chest._"

Artemis tried to copy her, he really did. His brain had the sequence logged and processed but his limbs simply didn't have the speed or muscle strength to follow it. The sensor had begun to tick again.

Juliet jogged across the studio and fiddled with the music bar. By the time she was back in the centre of the screen a new song was playing, approximately eight times faster than the first.

"_Okay_!" she called above the drums. "_Now we're going to do the whole thing in one big routine! I know you're a quick learner so this should be easy peasy for you. It's just: right-together, left-together, right-together, left-together. Drop, two, three and jump. Punch, two, three and jump. Paint the wall, paint the wall. Arms, around, drop and chest! Got it?"_

Artemis laughed weakly.

"_One, two, three, four!"_

The sensor ticked lazily as Artemis began to thrust, bounce, jab, gyrate and pump along to the music. His face was soon glowing, his hair growing damper with every drum beat. But he didn't care that his T-Shirt was stuck halfway up his torso now or that his shorts were in danger of showing off more than would perhaps be decent in company. Whatever he was doing couldn't be called 'dancing' – if he were horizontal it would quite possibly have been called 'fitting' – but it was over eighty per cent accurate, according to the steady tick of the sensor, so that was fine by him. Anyway, it wasn't as if anyone was there to witness his shame. No-one but _possibly _his brothers and they could be dealt with swiftly enough…

Such a shame that Holly Short was stood behind him in the flat's marbled entrance way, staring down into the living area as if Spring Equinox had come five months early. She had been there for two minutes and was already having to force herself to take deep, steady breaths so as not to lose control and expose herself.

_Oh my Frond, _she thought. _Oh dear Frond._

The Mud Man flipped his arms above his head and wound his hips about in a circle. Holly clapped a hand over her mouth. It was almost _too_ funny. It was even better than the time she'd watched him talk to a hat-stand for twenty minutes after drinking that concoction of Mulch's at her Wing-Commander party...

"_Arms, around, drop and chest!_" ordered Juliet Butler from the television, sounding more like her brother by the second. "_Arms, around, drop and chest! Okay! Now we're going to introduce a turn after that!_"

_D'arvit, _thought Holly.

She looked around for somewhere to hide. There was nowhere close to her. Artemis's choice of décor outside of the manor was annoyingly modern and minimalist. The kitchen was to her left, but it could clearly be seen from the open-plan living area where Artemis was still bouncing around.

Juliet was bouncing too. "_Arms, around, drop and chest. Jump, turn-turn. Jump, turn- turn – until you're back to the front again_."

"Jump, turn-turn," panted Artemis.

Holly swallowed a yelp and leapt behind the breakfast island. As soon as she was fully concealed, something began to beep very loudly.

Artemis faltered in his step. He had missed Holly but he had heard the beep.

_What?_ he thought. _What?_

He was keeping above eighty per cent accuracy. Frankly, he was danceasizing his _arse_ off. So why was the damned sensor speeding up?

Then he realised that his 'tick' was steady.

"_Jump, turn-turn!_" cried Juliet.

As Artemis jump turn-turned he attempted to scan his apartment. It was hard to concentrate with his vision bouncing and his muscles screaming but he thought he saw a tuft of flame-red hair poking out from behind his breakfast island. The beep was picking up speed.

"_Holly!_" he hissed.

And by his next revolution she had risen from her hiding place. She was stood in her uniform in front of the sink, grinning from ear to pointed ear.

"S'up Mud Man?"

"_Dance!"_ he wheezed, turning quickly back to the television, mindful of the sensors.

She laughed, somewhat surprised that he hadn't slowed down or stopped. "Yeah, I can see that… Kind of."

He swallowed and shook his head. He was close to collapsing, but he knew that if he paused now he would never finish the routine, and he'd be purple and stinking of horse urine within ten seconds. Not to mention publicly _ruined_ if Myles released those pictures.

The beep was getting louder.

"Sensor!" he gasped. "On _you_… got to… dance… _too_!"

The elf pointed to her chest. "_Me _dance?"

"_Yes!_"

The beep was one a second now.

"Come… _here_!" he cried.

"_Punch, two, three and jump! Punch, two, three and jump!_"

"Nah, I think I think I'll just watch you. You're so good at it!"

"_Paint the wall, paint the wall!"_

Artemis swore viciously. Holly really was surprised then.

"Come… _here_!" he repeated, the tendons standing out on his neck.

The elf frowned. "Alright," she muttered. "Keep your shorts on."

She walked down into the living area so she was stood on the rug beside him. It was hot here. The exercising Mud Man was giving off enough heat to power one of Foaly's generators. And that beeping was getting really annoying.

"_Dance!_" he insisted.

"Why?" She folded her arms. "Frond, Artemis, I just came to say hi, can't you just pause your video for a sec?"

"Can't… pause…" He swallowed. "_Brother's purple horse urine."_

"_What?"_

He thrust his linked arms over his head. "Brothers… thebeeping…"

"Yeah, that is getting quite irritating now. Can we turn it off?"

Then thirteen mechanised paint-canons dropped from Artemis's ceiling.

Holly's neutrino was out and primed within a second but the Mud Man jumped and elbowed her hard, almost knocking it out of her hands. She swore.

"_What is–?_"

"DANCE!" he roared, and something clicked in Holly's head.

She started to dance.

"Cross-together, cross-together," panted Artemis. "Cross-together, cross-together."

She quickly copied him and noticed that the beeping slowed. The canons didn't retreat however.

"Punch, two, three and jump!"ordered Artemis._ "_Punch, two, three and jump!"

She punched, two, three and jumped, and slowly, ever so slowly, the guns whirred back into their hidden brackets. Beside her, Artemis had closed his eyes with relief, not having enough breath to sigh.

"What," she said between bounces, "the d'arvit… is going… on?"

He shook his head, too busy trying not to pass out.

"Why," she continued, "have you had… dance-sensitive… _canons_… installed in…. your ceiling?"

"_Jump, turn-turn!_" cried Juliet. "_Jump, turn- turn!_"

Artemis gritted his teeth and concentrated on punching. Holly jabbed alongside him, getting to grips with the routine much quicker than he had. Their beeps and ticks settled in time. It was ridiculous. If anyone were to walk in on them now they would see a grown man wearing a child's T-Shirt punch-samba-ing in exact rhythm with a small, flame-haired woman dressed in a _Power Rangers_ outfit... and would then have to join them or risk getting doused with something a lot like purple horse-pee.

Then, just as Artemis thought his leg muscles were literally going to ignite, Juliet stopped bouncing.

"_And we're done!_" she announced with a grin, not even out of breath.

Before she had even finished the word 'done,' Artemis had collapsed into a heap on the floor. He lay with his limbs spread-eagled, eyes shut, brow furrowed, breathing like a hippo in labour. Holly stood over him, hands on hips.

"Now what the _d'arvit _was that all about?"

He nodded weakly. "Yes… Yes…"

"Artemis? _What just happened?_"

He swallowed. "Can't…. _Ergh_."

She grabbed one of his sweat-slicked palms. But despite her pulling he remained where he was.

"_You're almost done, Artemis_," said a deep and familiar voice. Holly looked up at the television screen and saw Butler stood in the centre of an otherwise deserted dojo. "_Just got the cool down to go._"

Holly noticed a loud ticking noise.

"Artemis," she hissed. "There's a sensor thingy going off."

The Mud Man either hadn't heard her or had decided not to care. His head lolled onto the carpet, his limbs as lifeless as a ragdoll's.

"_Artemis."_

Then she noticed the beep. That was _her_ sensor wasn't it?

The canons stirred above their heads, twitching in their housings.

She rocked her friend's shoulder. "Come _on_, Artemis. Just one more stage to go! We can finish whatever this creepy video is and you can collapse _later_!"

Video Butler spoke again, "_Myles has told me that there's a 99.9% chance that you've collapsed by now. If you stay on the floor and the sensors find your vitals to be in working order then you'll still be sprayed by the stuff. If they find your vitals in irregular order they'll ring for an ambulance…"_

Holly didn't like the sound of the _spraying_ _stuff_. Especially if Artemis's brothers were in any way involved. She knew what had happened to their geography professor.

She yanked a little more urgently on the human's arm. _"Arty!"_

"_Only the cool down to go, Artemis,_" said Butler. "_A few light stretches so you can walk tomorrow, and then you can shower and sleep._"

The beeping and the ticking were both growing ominously fast. Holly stood closer to the television and the beeping slowed. She nudged Artemis's leg with her boot.

"You heard the man," she shouted. "Shift it!"

He still didn't move.

_Frond!_ she thought viciously._ He's faced _trolls_! And yet one video workout and he's done for? _

A few of the canons were descending now. Holly saw them out of the corner of her eye.

_Tick, tick, tick tick-tick-tick-tick. _

The elf reached into her belt.

_Oh Frond, _she thought as she pulled out her buzz baton. _He is _not _going to be pleased with me for this._

She flicked it to the lowest setting possible and connected the end to his elbow. He gave a muffled scream, spasmed, and flung himself away from her. Holly moved after him and grabbed his wrist, driving his sudden motion.

"Up we go!"

He staggered upright at her direction and the ticking calmed. She turned him around so he stood square in front of the television.

"Breathe in!" she ordered. "And out!"

Artemis complied, eyes slightly unfocused. On screen, Butler was raising his arms. Holly stood behind his jelly-limbed charge and gripped the human's elbows, forcing his limbs upwards and then down in a circle.

"Breath in… and out," she said. "Breath in… and out."

Now Butler was bending at the waist, pushing his hands towards the floor. Holly quickly shoved Artemis over. The young human nearly collided head-first with the screen so she wrapped her arms around his legs and strained backwards to stop him from toppling.

"Artemis!" she spat, her face smushed against the back of his shorts. "_Can you get a grip now, please?"_

But apparently he couldn't. And the beeping had started again. She cursed and kicked at his ankle.

"_Artemis!"_

His hands dropped down against the floor so he was braced forwards, his bum propped high in the air. Holly sighed and let him go. She stood beside him and bent forwards until her palms could flatten against the rug. She felt the stretch up the back of her legs and the beeping calmed… Then Artemis's knees started to bend.

"_No,_" she warned, but the ticking had started again and Artemis was heading rapidly into a prayer position. "No!" she snapped and dropped to her knees beneath him, pushing at his knees and setting his legs straight again.

Then the beeping started.

"Oh, for the love of–"

She turned, swift as a cat, and pushed herself up into a pyramid beneath him.

"_Breathe in…"_ said video Butler. _"And out…"_

Holly's cheeks burnt. She could feel his weight against her back, his stomach curving over her. Artemis's fringe was hanging loosely over her face. It smelt faintly of pomegranate beneath the cooling smell of sweat. The beeping had slowed.

"_Now straighten."_

_Thank you, _thought Holly. She stood up, gripping Artemis's scrawny forearms and bringing him with her.

"_And you're done,_" announced Butler with a smile. "_And hopefully don't smell of horse pee." _

Holly frowned, confused, Artemis's arms still draped forward over her shoulders. The television switched itself off and the sensors' tick and beep both faded. She heard several whirrs above her head and knew that the canons had finally retreated.

She titled her head backwards and looked up at the Mud Man towering over her.

"So," she said. "Care to explain?"

He opened one eye, the hazel one, and gave her the weakest of smiles. "Never…" he breathed, "miss… a circuit training… class…"

* * *

**And, amazingly, I managed to keep it 'circuit' related :P**

**This was inspired by a _Zumba _class I went to last night. The music for Juliet's routine is 'Elle aime les DJ's' by Party Crew because that's one of the songs that the class used. **

**Hmm, now that's finished... back to witchcraft!**

**But give me some reviews yeah? Please and thanks?**


	3. Arty

**This one's a bit weird - was basically having a play with words and a concept that just wouldn't bug off... **

**Hopefully you'll all enjoy :)**

* * *

Arty

The door to the hospital room beeped then slid open.

"Hello, Artemis!" called the demon in a sing-song voice.

The teenager's reply was muffled by his arms. "The note I left attached to my digi-chart clearly requests that no-one bother me today."

"But I…I didn't come to bother you." The demon's smile dropped. "I came to give you a present."

_Oh, for the love of–_

Artemis gritted his teeth and lifted his head from his desk. "I am sorry, No.1. That was very rude of me. You have not caught me in the best of moods."

"I know!" trilled the demon as the door wooshed shut behind him. "Holly told me that you've been grumpy for days! Cantankerous, irritable, difficult–"

"Stop."

The warlock winced. "O- Okay, Artemis. I suppose Holly did warn me not to do that..." He reached into the little satchel hanging by his hip and pulled out a thin, rectangular box. "Just something small," he said, handing it to the teenager. "I know you're missing home so I thought I'd give you a little piece of it – something human."

Artemis tipped the lid. Inside the box, sunk into a cushion of plush velvet, was a gold-plated fountain pen.

No.1 watched him anxiously. "I engraved it myself. It got a little… burnt in the process but it still works..."

The teenager stroked at the word 'Arty' etched in shaky English on the side of the shaft. True to the demon's word, there was a deep, black welt where the 'y' looped round to meet the pocket-clip.

"Thank you… very much, No.1."

"Oh, no problem!" The little demon beamed. "Again, just a little something. I'll leave you alone now, I know you're busy."

And with that he vanished, skipping out the way he had come.

Artemis sat quietly for a moment, squeezing the pen in his hand… before hurling it with all his might to the other side of the room.

"_Argh!_" he screamed, knowing that his heart rate was elevated, knowing that he was acting as crazed as his prognosis but for once not caring.

A pen? A _pen_? What was he to do with a d'arvitting_ pen_? He was shut up in a room completely bereft of paper! Bereft of laces on his shoes, cutlery with serrated edges, a bed with detachable sheets! Just four solid walls and a hastily placed partition in the farthest corner, making five sides where once there had only been four.

He backed into the wallpaper, glaring at the pen lying forlornly at the base of the skirting board.

Now, of course, he felt guilty.

The heel of his left hand snapped up and smacked sharply against his temple.

_No. _

He clawed the wrist down.

He had to stop _doing_ that. Butler had told him so. Hurting himself wouldn't solve anything.

But the action was almost like a reflex now.

_No. _

He closed his eyes.

"No." The word pushed past his lips. "You will stop it."

He opened his eyes again.

_There. That has told me. _

His back slid down the wall. He crouched, his T-Shirt rucking up above his ribs, before falling forward onto his hands and knees. The floor scuffed his skin as he crawled, as he lurched, stretched himself across the last few feet of floor until the pen was level with his face. He picked it up.

_Arty. _

The four-letter punch was dulled by the medication but his hands still managed a tremor. He turned it over in his fingers. His back grew cold against the slightly spongy, plastic flooring.

"Arty," he whispered.

_I wish_.

He sat bolt upright, clapping his right hand against the wall and ripping sideways; three, thin tears appeared in the paper. He rose to his knees and set to work in earnest then, clawing back strips of plum and sliver paper, ripping it, stripping it back from… the plaster? He couldn't be bothered to analyse nor care about what it was he was revealing; all he knew was that it was _blank _and _white_.

He pressed his arm to the wall.

"My… name…" He muttered as he scribbled. "is…Artemis… Fowl…"

The script wasn't of his usual quality. A five year old could quite possibly have done a neater, more legible job. But he felt strangely proud. He laughed, suddenly elated…

…and then the letters flashed gold and peeled outwards then upwards from the wall. The words split into phonemes, curved into wings, butterflies of lexis. They fluttered in front of his face, dancing, teasing. One kissed his nose and then – _Poof_ – a single puff of glitter and it was gone. 'Name,' 'My,' 'in' and 'Fowl,' buffeted by the demise of 'Artemis', winged their way to the ceiling, nestling among the gilded light-globes and winking lazily safe above.

The teenager stared at them.

Then he looked at the pen in his hand.

He flung himself back to the wall.

"This… is…" he wrote breathlessly, his hand even more uneven than before, "a… magic… pen."

He sat back.

And nothing happened. He was just left staring at five, unmoving, spidery words. He put his hands up to the white. He pushed at the ink.

Still nothing.

He realised a frustrated breath...

…And 'magic' and 'pen' burst from the wall, trailing sparks like a New Year's firework. His eyes widened. He thrust his face closer to the plaster and blew with all his might. The rest of the sentence slipped from between his fingers, dripping to the floor in a flood of mangled consonants. The vowels raced between his legs and Artemis whipped his head around, just in time to see them disappear under the foot of his bed.

He scrambled to his feet.

His pen trailed across the wall, drawing bigger, shading rapidly…

…The inked sun exploded from the wall, blasting his weak irises with light. He fell back onto his rump, laughing, as the shapes behind his eyelids darkened from peach back to rosy pink.

When he opened his eyes again the wall was blank. He grinned and crawled closer. This time he drew limbs, a thin torso, a gun, a shining helmet…

… and Holly Short popped from the wall, landing catlike on all fours and shaking the glitter from her hair. She stood up, standing less than the height of Artemis's hand. Looking around her, she caught sight of her abandoned helmet and snatched it from the ground. She saw Artemis then and pointed up at him, squeaking angrily.

His eyebrows shot up. "What? What's wrong–?"

Holly jammed the helmet onto her head and gestured rapidly to her back.

"Oh," he muttered, "of course."

Artemis hurried back to the wall, sketching in solar plates, pistons, stealing occasional glances back at the elf to make sure his proportions were right. He breathed on his design…

…and Holly Short slung the wing rig impatiently onto her back. She buckled the harness, flicked the ignition and buzzed quickly to Artemis's eye level. The teenager stared at her, cross-eyed, her angry features unmistakable even at this scale. She squeaked at him, rolling her eyes, flapping her arms, before poking him hard in the nose. It felt as if he'd been prodded with a daisy stem. She huffed and somersaulted away from him, shooting to the ceiling lights and sending 'name,' 'My' and 'Fowl' scattering away from their perches.

Artemis watched her for a moment from the floor.

And then he began scribbling again…

…A gangly teenager in shining, crested, armour burst forth from the plaster, brandishing a great-sword in one hand and a golden shield in the other. He landed hard on mailed feet, flicking up the visor of his helmet and squeaking in a surprisingly cavalier manner. On the ceiling, Holly cocked her head. She swooped over the light-globes. The mini Orion swizzled, intent on chopping down this new enemy from above, but on catching sight of the hovering elf he ditched both sword and shield, dropping straight down to one knee. He spread his arms, squeaking eagerly in her direction.

"_Meep_!" he proclaimed. "_Meep meep meep!_"

Holly folded her arms. "_Meep,"_ she said, apparently unimpressed._ "Meep, meep."_

Orion shuffled closer. "_Meep-meep, meeeep!_"

Holly rolled her eyes and flew upwards. Orion ran after her, vaulting over a pair of complimentary hospital slippers.

"_Meep!_" he pleaded, settling into a sprint. "_Meep, meep-meep! Meeeeeeeep!"_

She ignored him, speeding up into the lights. The mini Orion slowed and seemed to wilt where he stood. He flopped down onto his armoured backside and sighed.

"_Meep_…"

Artemis frowned. He looked up at the elf half-hidden amongst his flutter-by words and felt a pang of pity.

_Perhaps a common cause..?_

He raised his pen. Horns, spines, lizard-like scales and some heavy shading later…

… Orion's eyes lit up as he spotted this new enemy, sprinting back towards his abandoned sword and shield as fast as his inch-long legs could carry him.

The dragon had four heads, four tongues, four feet, forty claws and a singular, scarlet and prong-humped body. Its plume was black and scarlet, its belly a dangerous, speckled plum. It turned its eight eyes on Orion and _hissed. _Then all four heads took a breath, their necks stretched forwards, and fire streamed from between their fangs. Artemis shielded his eyes with an arm. Orion flicked down his visor, scooped up his weapons, and threw himself right in its path. Holly gave a strangled cry.

Orion was barbequed. To put it simply. He froze in the midst of the blaze, gave a weak, smoke-choked squeak and crumpled straight to the floor. Holly shot down from the ceiling like a hawk that had spotted a sparrow. The dragon swung up its heads and flame streamed out in her direction. She spun away, dodging the worst of the inferno, and pulled her mini-neutrino from the holster at her waist. The dragon screamed as it was hit: a high, keening noise that forced Artemis to clap his hands over his ears.

Holly gave the dragon another five bursts of laser. The creature roared again and charged. Despite it only being the size of a reasonably plump Jack Russell terrier, the floor juddered as it ran and the elf's eyes widened. It spat out a torrent of flame and Artemis gave a cry of his own as the scarlet reared towards her… but the fairy swerved at the last minute, the fire only just catching at her boots.

The teenager gritted his teeth and reached for the pen.

On the floor, a metre from the skirting board, Orion was coughing soot from his lungs. He squeaked pitifully and raised a hand to his pin-wheeling beloved. Holly dove towards him. Then the dragon turned and she was forced to beat another hasty retreat.

"_Corneliani_," muttered Artemis, brows drawn, his hand scribbling rapidly. "Or perhaps the _Canali_?"

Holly squeaked at the armoured boy beneath her. Orion reached out for his abandoned sword. Then the dragon actually seemed to smile, all four hundred of its teeth glinting in the light from the lamps above. It took a deep breath. Holly's squeaks became decidedly more urgent, her arms flapping wildly. Orion's eyes widened.

"No," decided Artemis, "definitely the _Westwood..._"

… And a black-haired, spider-limbed teenager in bespoke _Vivienne Westwood_ burst from the plaster, landing on the floor in tumble of arms legs and grey cotton. He staggered up and brushed the dust from his trousers. The mini Holly spotted him mid cartwheel, a jet of flame just soaring past her wing rack. She gawked at him… and then noticed the weapon abandoned at his feet. She began squeaking frantically, pointing and kicking. The newcomer scowled, squeaked his own, comparatively calm, reply before hoisting the 3.5 in HYDROAR M20A1B1 Rocket Launcher to his shoulder. It went off with a _boom_, sending the miniature teenager shooting backwards. The rocket itself spiralled towards the dragon which gave one last, piercing, wail before it exploded into a million pieces of scarlet glitter.

The elf slumped with relief. Then she sighed, adjusted her helmet and shot over to the collapsed black-haired boy. She dropped to the floor beside him, the red rain catching in her hair.

"_Meep_," he said weakly; he was exhausted, his limbs spread-eagled. "_Meep._"

She smiled down at him. "_Meep, meep, meep._"

He closed his eyes. "_Meep_…"

And she kicked him hard in the ribs. The boy squeaked indignantly and sat up. The elf giggled, blew him a swift kiss, and shot off.

Orion was just struggling to rise when she arrived.

She sighed. "_Meep, meep?_" She offered him a hand.

He took it and she hoisted him roughly from the floor, his mailed feet flailing for a moment before she dropped him back down again.

"_Meep, meep, meep_," said the boy, one hand pressed to his breast. "_Meeeep! Meep, meep!_"

The fairy wrenched backwards.

The other boy was just straightening his tie as he reached them. The elf sped over to him and grabbed his shoulders from behind.

He frowned back at her. "Meep?"

She shot out an arm towards the mailed teenager. "_Meep, meep._"

Orion looked suddenly wounded. "_Meeep_!" he protested. "_Meep, meep, meeeeep!_"

The black-haired boy raised an eyebrow. He smirked at the elf over his shoulder. "_Meep, meep, meep_."

Her face fell and she punched him hard in the shoulder. Orion looked suddenly angry. He drew his sword and spread his legs apart. "_Meep_!" he declared to Artemis. "_Meep-meep!_"

But Artemis only scowled and rubbed at his arm. Orion tore off one gauntlet and threw it at his twin's feet. "_Meep_!" he declared.

The mini Artemis scowled, snatched the neutrino from Holly's hip, and blasted Orion to the other side of the room. The blonde teenager collided hard with the wall and disappeared with a last squeak and a burst of golden sparks. The mini Holly gaped. She flew sharply upwards, turning only to stare disbelievingly at the only teenager left below her.

"Meep," she said, tears actually beginning to brim in her pin-prick eyes. "Meep, meep, meep."

The boy's expression fell. "Meep!" he squeaked. "Meep-meep!"

"No," breathed the fully-grown Artemis.

She shook her head, pointing accusingly at the point where Orion had just _poofed_ out of existence. "_Meep_!" she spat. "_Meep, meep, MEEP!_"

A few vowels peeped tentatively out from beneath the bed, their phonetic wings twitching. The little Artemis could only stare at the fairy, his hands outstretched, his expression distraught.

"_Meep,_" he offered weakly. "_Meep_, _meep_."

The little elf turned away, tears streaming, and buzzed to the ceiling, leaving only a trail of turquoise sparks in her wake.

"_Meep_!" cried the boy, trotting uselessly after her. "_Meep_-_meep_!"

But she was gone. The mini Artemis stopped where he was, his own eyes becoming glassy. He flopped down to the floor and buried his nose between his crouched knees. His shoulders soon began to shake.

'My,' 'I' and 'name' peeped warily down at him from the ceiling above. A few consonants floated to his side. A bold 's' ringed in a purple haze even nudged at his elbow but the boy didn't respond.

Artemis grasped the pen in his hand. He turned back to the wall…

…And a pencil, tiny, just a third of a toothpick, rolled across the floor before coming to to rest beside the boy's foot. He sniffed and looked at it with bloodshot eyes.

"Pick it up," ordered his bigger self.

The boy gazed at his creator.

"_Pick it up_."

The teenager got to his feet, dragged a sleeve across his face, and did as he was told.

It began with a boy, a little boy with shaded hair and a sharp suit. That boy drew another boy, then another, then another, until there was an army of teenagers scrawling over the white. They each drew a wave, waves that crashed, churned into oceans, rivers, lakes, against shores of sand and crag and brush, into savannahs, woods, moors prowled by creatures both tall and small. Some waves froze. They rose from the water, great behemoths of cold, kingdoms of ice ruled by shadows and things with _teeth_, and snow that snapped and bit at the others who all grew wings and flew away. To canopied rainforests and rolling valleys, prairies, meadows, mud pits, springs.

Artemis closed his eyes and blew.

Life began in a rush of colour. Tigers and foxgloves slipped between his fingers, mountains grew under his hands. A rebellious baobab sprouted beside his kneecap, forcing him back, making room for the cave that was crumbling beneath his left foot. The sun burned high, but this time his eyes were ready. He swept his arm over his head, ink splattering across the ceiling. New stars shone, moons, planets. Five swift equations, a breath, and the symbols peeled back from the wall – time had begun; the sun set behind his desk, the moon rose high above his bed, things were born and began to die; a circuit had started.

On the ceiling, the elf was watching.

The mini Artemis threw his hands towards her. "_Meep_!" he declared, a tornado stirring his jacket tails, rising, whipping his dark hair across his face.

_This. _

"_Meep meep meep!_"

_This is what I would give to you._

"_Meep_ _meep_!"

_If it would make everything alright again._

The fairy came slowly, sinking through iron-bellied clouds and flocks of god-like swallows. She landed softly, neatly. The pencil slipped from the boy's fingers. She stooped to pick it up and smiled as she folded it back into his hand.

"_Meep_," she whispered.

She drew the point close to her chest, guiding the shape. He knew it; what child didn't? One low breath and it fell into his hands still warm.

He swallowed.

"_What were you thinking?"_

He heard feet. Heavy feet. Cold rushed over his own pale limbs. Artemis felt the plastic beneath his back.

"_I'm sorry! I meant it as a present!"_

The fairy and the boy sank to the floor, vanishing into dust and nothingness. The mountains crumbled, the oceans washed away. The sun burnt out_._

"_He's ill! He's not in his right mind!"_

Stars imploded, forest and grass and rock all faded. Above him, his words burst into fluffs of colour, puffs of vowels and silent 'p's.

"_I'm_ _sorry_!"

He blinked as the doors swept open.

There was a sharp intake of breath.

"_Artemis."_

Four figures stood, appalled, at the door of his suite. What was left of it. The walls were black with ink, stripped of the paper which was scattered in tatters about the floor. Symbols, insignias, letters, notation, numbers, formulae; the plaster was black with it. And so was the boy himself.

Butler swore and shoved aside a stunned Argon and No.1. The teenager looked up, muttered. He was trembling, ink bleeding from between his teeth. He was hefted up into muscle-knotted arms.

"My _wallpaper,"_ Argon was moaning, his nails dragging at his cheeks. "My beautiful _wallpaper_." Butler growled at him and the gnome's hands slipped. He caught sight of the black dribbling down his patients chin. "Take him to the next room," he said, sobering. "I'll need to check for any ink poisoning before we can get him cleaned up."

The bodyguard nodded and they stalked away. The little demon stumbled after them, his chest hitching.

Holly Short allowed their footsteps to fade before taking a step inside the teenager's abandoned room. She looked up, took in the star-spattered ceiling, gazed at the animals with their dripping faces, the still-wet sun. She turned, crouched, picked her spot, and raising a hand to the wall, pressed her bare palm to the plaster. Ink stamped to her skin. She gave it a moment of pressure, gazing at the smiling stick-figures that flanked her thumb and little finger. She drew her hand away. She stood and stared a moment at the ink heart in her hand...

* * *

**Ah, another brain dribble. Did a presentation a few weeks back on the relationship between word and image - thus, _this _was born. But I held myself back and didn't write it properly until now. Well, I say properly...**

**Review please? :)**


	4. Home Grown

**Yup, another brain dribble! Don't know why people are being all angsty about the end of The Last Guardian - I finished it at 5am after four hours of midget-gem-powered reading... and I was high on life for about two days. The symbolism! The metaphor! He/all of them were obviously going to live 'happily ever after...'**

**As I was reading the Epilogue this situation instantly struck me as something I had to write, and now the next chappie of RA is up I've written it.**

**Hopefully you'll enjoy it :)**

_Warning: One use of the 's' word_

_Soundtrack: R.E.M. - Nightswimming (just a lovely song to write to)_

_Disclaimer: There would have been way more circular saws in book five. I'm telling ya._

* * *

Home Grown

**Day 6**

"What's that, Daddy?"

"Shhh! Equus, close that– _Ow!_"

"Foaly?"

The LEP consultant cursed under his breath before forcing a smile and turning around.

"Hello, dear!" he called. "Pleasant day at work?"

Caballine raised an eyebrow. Then Foaly's grip faltered around the object barely contained in his arms and he cried out, raising one of his forelegs to attempt to keep it up against the wall. His wife sighed and moved to help him.

"What is this?" she asked bluntly as she took one end of what looked like a titanium dog-carrier – but with more wires and an added smell of frogspawn.

"It's–" The box slipped again. "It's just something from work."

"Oh really?"

"It's a tank!" announced the three-year-old Equus, stretched up on his fore-hooves to peer into the box, his tail swishing eagerly.

"Yes…" said Caballine. "That _is_ what it looks like…"

Foaly averted his eyes. He backed slowly into his home workroom, Equus dancing about his hind legs whilst Caballine struggled to support the other end of the box. They lowered the tank slowly onto a counter.

"Careful!" cried Foaly as one corner banged against a broken monitor. His eyes were wide, _fearful._

Caballine's eyes narrowed. When the container was completely set down her husband set about securing it, fixing power plug and dials, wires and what looked like a miniature heart-monitor…

"Foaly, what is this?" she asked.

He glanced up. "Er… nothing. Nothing. Just… Just something I was tinkering with at work is all."

"Then why couldn't it _stay_ at work?"

Sweat beads broke out along his hairline. "Er…"

"Is it another box of critters?" burst Equus, positively bouncing beside the tank now. "Is it Daddy? _Is it_?"

Foaly laughed nervously.

His 'critters' were now a fully licensed product of the LEP and used in frontline duty almost every day. They were a boon to the many officers working above ground and below, and were generally accepted by all as a work of anatomical genius. But their beginnings had not been exactly _happy_. Foaly (unsure whether the council would be fully behind his idea to breed an army of living micro-mechanics) had brought the first batch home in a small fish tank and introduced them to his family as 'pets'. It was only two months later, when Caballine had been giving the critters their night time feed, that they had swarmed up and out of the tank, muffling her scream with a thousand of their dust-mote-sized bodies, and proceeded to eat the oven. Foaly had come home to a very rightfully angry wife and no oven. Needless to say, the critters were executed and disposed of that very night.

"Foaly," growled Caballine. "_Are _these critters?"

The centaur swallowed. What was he to say? If he told her the truth then there was a chance that she might freak out – and possibly let the secret slip. And that couldn't happen. He couldn't risk anyone hearing about this, not even old Mrs Net-Twitcher from across the hedge who was always spying at him through a gap in the holo-verge. He loved his wife, so much, but… but it was a matter of life and death.

"Of a sort," said Foaly, hating himself with every syllable. "It's an advancement of species II. I've… I've brought him– _it_ home to… to soak up the atmosphere."

Caballine stared at him as if he'd grown a fifth leg. "The _atmosphere_?"

The lie solidified in his mind. "Yes," he said, sounding surer. "I'm experimenting with giving them emotions. Empathy. To see whether I could use them as some sort of medical aid."

"And… why would they need emotion for that?"

There was a pause.

"All doctors need good bedside manners."

Equus was pushing himself up towards the edge of the tank. His nose brushed at the brim, his hind quarters practically quivering with excitement.

"Oh, _please_, Mummy!" he wailed, dropping his arms and staring at his mother. "_Please_, can we keep them? I'll feed them every day and I _promise_ they won't attack you! I'll train them specially! _Please_ let Daddy keep them. _Please._"

"Foaly…"

"It's not dangerous," said Foaly quickly. "I promise you, Caballine. It'll grow peacefully and without any resentment for centaurs this time – I _promise_."

She took in her son's wobbling lip and the imploring, nigh cow-like, eyes of husband… and sighed heavily.

"Alright–"

"YES!" screamed Equus.

"– but it'll live in the _shed._ I'm not having it in the house, Foaly. It will have to soak up the atmosphere from _outside_ the family home."

Her husband nodded in acceptance. Equus had already jumped back up to the tank.

"You hear that?" he hissed to the small, gelatinous blob nestled at the centre of the trappings of wire, tubes and nutrient feed. "You're going to be allowed to stay!"

**Day 11 **

Foaly could smell the sim-coffee before he saw it. He was sat in one of Haven's swankiest downtown coffee shops, one of the few that provided seats especially made for centaurs. His stomach was well cushioned by heated support-pads with a fleece-lined hollow below him to allow his legs and hooves to be tucked neatly away.

"Excellent," he murmured, as Holly Short passed the steaming mug about his head and then into his hands.

She nodded idly and settled herself in the gel-bag opposite him. "So Caballine bought it?" she asked, skipping any preamble. "You've got him into the house?"

Foaly winced. "She didn't… I wasn't _selling _heranything_. _I…"

"Is he in the house?"

"Yes."

"Alright then."

She looked away from him and sipped at her mug. Foaly sighed. She had been like this for weeks: blunt, impatient… Well, at least if anyone wanted to talk about stuff that was anything other than to do with Artemis Fowl.

Foaly had seen the photos of Artemis's body. And he had broken, there in his office, finally letting the flood barriers fall. Even as the chrysalis had hummed on the desk behind him, multiplying new cells, recreating life, recreating _him, _the centaur had wept. And it had been a long time until he had gathered the strength to stop.

"He's in the back house though," continued the centaur. "Caballine doesn't want anything that comes in a tank inside the home."

Holly gave a grim smile. "She still hasn't forgotten about the critters then?"

"No."

"I don't blame her. It's not easy to get over things swarming all over you. When the crickets took me and–"

She stopped suddenly. As if invisible fingers had pinched her wind-pipe shut; pale fingers, piano-players fingers unused to hard labour.

Foaly sighed again.

"I'm working on it, Holly," he said softly. "I'm working on it."

**Day 45 **

"Just a little, Equus. Slowly… slowly…"

The young centaur bit his tongue between wide front teeth and squeezed the pipette. An over-large drop of neon plasma-syrup fell into the tank, sending ripples across the sludge-like surface. Beneath the slurry, curled and about the size of a chicken egg, the 'critter' wobbled and continued to grow.

"There you are," whispered Equus, retracting his hand. "Nice and fed now, Dame Delawney."

Foaly bit his lip. 'Dame Delawney' was the name his son had given to his adopted pet. It was based on an irritated, off-hand comment of Caballine's that the 'critter' was like the matriarch pixie of HBC's award-winning family drama series _Downtown Abbey;_ they were both wrinkled, set off unpleasant gases and constantly demanded attention. Foaly could take this insult to his supposed 'experiment'; as long as Caballine disliked 'Dame Delawney' she would stay away from the shed and not notice that the small, bug-like creature she had clapped eyes on a month ago had now grown into a human foetus.

"Stand back, please," said Foaly. The little boy did as he was told and his father adjusted one of Dame Delawney's hydra-feeds.

"Can we get her out?" asked Equus, his mouth down-turned now his job was over.

His father shook his head. "Not yet, my Dobbin, I'm sorry. He– _She _needs a bit more time yet."

"_How _long?"

"About two months."

"Two _months_? A girl in my magic class has a gerbil and _she _could take it out after a few hours!"

Foaly frowned. As a centaur, and mostly concerned with physics and computers (to put it simply), he wasn't particularly familiar with human growth periods. But according to the pictures in the book he had got Mulch to smuggle him from the surface (_What To Expect When You're Expecting_) his ex-criminal friend looked a lot like illustration number four right now and was definitely still in the 'womb' stage and not the 'bounce and gargle' stage which seemed to allow later room for handling.

"Nope. Still needs a bit more cooking."

He shut the lid of the chrysalis.

**Day 65**

Caballine smiled as she caught sight of the elf. "Holly! _Hi_! Frond! It's been so long!"

Holly returned the smile, somewhat awkwardly, but accepted the traditional treble greeting kiss of the centaurs. "Yes," she replied. "I suppose it has been."

Foaly closed the front door and looped his scarf free from his thick neck. "Had a good day, dear?"

Caballine changed focus. "Yes, it was… productive I guess. But Holly, how have you been?"

_I haven't._

Holly hit herself inwardly for thinking something so stupidly sappy and pathetic.

"Fine," she said instead. "Um, good. You?"

"Can't complain I suppose, though–"

But then her husband planted wide hands on the elf's bony shoulders and started driving Holly out of the room.

"Just going to see Delawney!" he called over his shoulder.

"Why does _Holly_ have to see Delawney?" protested Caballine.

"She needs guest emotions!"

And with that he was out the back door. He released Holly and she followed his eager trotting all the way down the lawn, past the faux-marble statue of Pegasus (complete with Grecian tin-hat) and bits of abandoned wing-rig, until they reached the shed.

"After you!" he sing-songed, holding the holo-door 'open' for her.

She passed through hesitantly, warily. He clomped impatiently in behind her and headed straight for the only work bench in the room. Holly saw the tank, bright blue, and glowing faintly in the gloom.

It lit Foaly's face from beneath, both his hands positioned ready to wrench off the chrysalis's lid. "Are you ready to see?"

_No._

"Yes."

He yanked off the lid.

It had hair. That was the first thing she processed. Then the puckered mouth, the tiny, balled fists, the scrunched toes…

"He has six toes on one foot."

Foaly winced. "Yeah… Equus over fed him last Tuesday, I've been meaning to–"

She rounded on him. "He has six toes, Foaly!"

"And Wesley Brownacre from Recon has three nipples!" whinnied the centaur in sudden anger. "_Frond_, Holly! I'm doing my best here! It's not as if Opal left a manual for this thing!"

Holly closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose.

_Calm, calm…_

She opened them again and hesitated, just slightly, before taking a step closer towards the tank. He was so still, so small, so…

"He's just a baby," she breathed.

"What were you expecting?" commented Foaly drily, still stinging from the 'six toes' comment, "a leopard?"

Holly ignored him. She reached a hand over the lip of the chrysalis then froze.

"Can I… Can I touch…?"

For one vicious second Foaly considered denying her... and then he caught himself.

"Here," he said, opening a sealed cabinet and pulling out a pair of long, fleshy gloves, "put these on first."

Holly did as she was told. The gloves were cool and slick to the touch, much too big for her elfin hands, but they would do. This time she didn't hesitate. She reached a hand over the lip and gently, _oh so gently_, sunk her hand through the gunk and placed the tip of her little finger against the side of the baby's minute fist. She let out a gasp, half laugh, half cry. She glanced at Foaly then looked quickly away. He walked closer to the tank.

"If you press a little," he murmured, sharp words and feelings forgotten, "he'll take your finger."

Both Holly's eyebrows rose. Then her gaze dropped back to the chrysalis. Her face drew in with concentration. She pushed, just with the edge of her nail.

"Artemis…" she whispered. "Arty…"

The baby's face didn't change – well, the bit she could see through the tubes and nutrient goop anyway. But the fingers. Holly couldn't be completely sure whether it was because of her pressure or the clone's own reactions… but the fist had closed about Holly's fingertip, simultaneously strong and yet oh so vulnerable.

Foaly looked at her face and smiled.

**Day 122**

"Can I help, Daddy? Can _I _help?"

Equus was bouncing around his father's legs, a ball of blonde, quadruped excitement. Foaly could only grit his teeth. He was lifting the young human in his gloved grip, the boy's infant head drooping back like a doll's over his thickly thatched forearms. Tubes ran from the child's nostrils and naval, feeding in nutrients and essential growth elements. The chrysalis was swiftly becoming far too small for him, but to make the adjustments the clone so desperately needed, Foaly would have to remove him temporarily from the tank.

"Not right now, Equus," Foaly managed to say, laying the clone down in an old paddling pool he'd filled with preservative plasma. "This bit needs special caution."

"I can be special caution!" declared the young centaur. "I can be really caution! Look!"

And in his rush to prove it to his father Equus ran straight into a wire, consequently yanking a newly-renovated life-support engine down from a sideboard and sending it crashing towards the floor. The case broke with a sharp, sickening _crack_ and the room was pitched into darkness.

"_What have you done?_" roared Foaly, as a klaxon began to wail above his head.

"I– I don't know!" stuttered Equus, backing up in the flash of the red light, his blue eyes wide and fearful. "I– I was just–"

Foaly swore loudly. The clone in his arms opened its mouth, releasing a small, choked gasp.

"No!" bellowed the centaur. "_No!_"

"I'm sorry, Dad!" wailed Equus, half sobbing half shrieking, "I didn't– I didn't _mean_–"

But his protests fell on deaf ears. Foaly was rushing around the boy in the pool, attaching wires, electrode pads, pumping at a worn out generator he'd once used to power the lawn mower.

"_No!_" he was muttering, over and over. "Don't you _dare_, Mud Boy. Not again!"

Equus gave a last choked cry and bolted from the shed. He galloped across the garden, dodging the mismatched, familiar debris, and charged into the kitchen.

Caballine turned away from the lemons she was zesting. "Equus, what–?" And then her first-born slammed into her flank. "Hey," she said, as he buried his wet face into her chestnut coat. "Hey, what's happened? Are you hurt?"

"I– I didn't _mean_ to!" he sobbed.

"Hey, hush now. What didn't you mean?"

"I– I was just t-trying to h-help! I knocked over this metal t-_thing _and Daddy shouted at me–"

"Daddy what?"

"W-we were w-with Delawney in the sh-shed! I was o-only trying t-to help!"

Caballine's eyes flashed.

When she reached the shed at the bottom of the lawn, Foaly was stood outside it. He was leant against one of the faux-wood struts, his head hidden by his arms.

"Foaly," snapped Caballine, "I've just seen our son."

Her husband raised his head wearily. His eyes were bloodshot, stained.

"Equus?"

"Yes, _Equus_," she confirmed. "And he was in tears, Foaly! All because he said you'd shouted at him!"

"He… he had broken the life support. I nearly lost… It was all nearly lost…"

His mate's nostrils flared. "I've had enough," she said firmly. "All it's been, for months, is how important that _thing _in that shed is. And I know your work is important, Foaly, and how important it is to you, but this is our _home_, our _family_. Your work belongs at work."

Foaly closed his eyes again. "Caballine–"

"You're obsessed with it. You spend every spare moment of your time with it! And I've put up with your projects before! Remember the critters?"

Foaly's expression was grim. "This is not a critter."

"Well that's what you told me it was!"

"You don't… you don't understand… He's…" He broke off, looked away again.

Then Caballine finally noticed his shaking hands, the drying tear tracks on her husband's long cheeks. He was upset, _more _than upset. She looked at his eyes. She hadn't seen him like this since the day…

Her eyes widened. She trotted sharply forward, passing her husband.

"Caballine!" called Foaly. "Don't–!"

But it was too late.

She had barged her way through the shed's door to stop, suddenly, in front of the small human laid in the paddling pool; his thin chest rising and falling, steady, stable. Even at this young age Caballine recognised him, through the long black hair, the pale face.

"Foaly," she whispered. "Please… Please tell me that isn't who I think it is…"

She heard her husband enter behind her. "Caballine, let me explain–"

"All this time?"

"Caballine–"

"I thought– I thought it was a _bug_. Not– Not–"

"Caballine–"

"No!" She threw off the hand that had briefly touched to her shoulder.

"I can _explain_!" yelled Foaly, following her out of the shed, down the grass. "Artemis didn't really _die, _Caballine! I've a theory–"

"_Theory_?" Caballine turned on him. "_You have grown a human in our shed!_"

"For good reason!"

She laughed. "Well I _am_ still holding onto the _faint _hope that this wasn't just for _shits and giggles_."

Her husband ignored that. "The spell at the gate took _fairy _souls. Artemis was a _human. _There is a chance that he will have held onto his place in this realm and now only needs a body–"

"So you just decided to make one for him?"

"He left DNA on Holly's forehead. He left instructions forme to power up the chrysalis."

Caballine's face fell. "He _died_, my love." Her eyes pleaded with those of her husband's, _willing _him to come to his senses. "It was awful... He was so young... But he _died._ He's _gone_."

"No," whispered a voice from behind her.

Then Holly Short pulled the trigger of her neutrino, shooting a tranquilizer dart straight into a vein protruding from Caballine's neck.

**Day 167**

"D'arvit," muttered Foaly. He picked up the tipped box of 'clone-feed' from the edge of the tank, some of the loose flakes fluttering, limply away from the entry-hole.

_I must have knocked it over before I shut up shop last Monday,_ he thought grimly.

He sighed and stroked at his own beard whilst staring down at the thick, black one of the human beneath him.

_You never know though. This may still be him at fifteen. Artemis may have just started shaving early…_

The centaur frowned and consulted a few of the printouts he'd fetched from the LEP 'human development' database.

"_At fifteen, most Caucasian male humans will have begun to sprout what is commonly termed as 'bum fluff' from their chins and upper lips. Often only a growth of pathetic, Velcro-like hairs, the teenage human will still cultivate and display said hairs proudly and publicly in a false sense of manly pride._" Foaly glanced down again at the thick bush obscuring half the clone's face. "Nope. That's definitely beyond that." He dropped the sheets to the desk. "_D'arvit_…"

It could take weeks to reverse what an accidental OD of clone-feed had achieved in four days. He'd have to shave the bones down, possibly drain the brain…

Foaly's head shot up. His eyes darted to the small, laser-powered circular-saw he had purchased last year after a short-lived bout of DIY enthusiasm.

_This… this could be a good thing. _

Twenty minutes later and the top of Artemis's shaggy skull was sat in Foaly's palm like a hairy, pulp-lined, coconut husk. His brain was sat in the other palm, dripping goop onto the laminate.

"Hmm," murmured Foaly, bouncing his right hand up and down a few times. "This thing's fairly heavy."

_Well, what had you expected?_

"Foaly!" called a voice from outside the shed. "Foaly, I've brought you coffee. You've been in there for ages, love, why don't you take–"

The door opened.

Foaly froze.

Caballine froze.

…And then she sank to the floor, the coffee mug smashing to the floor as she dropped.

Foaly swore again, sighed, and proceeded to mind-wipe his wife for what was the second time since the clone had entered the shed.

**Day 182 **

"Whoa," whispered Holly. "It's him. It's really him."

She was bent over the clone's container, her eyes wide and spiked with adrenaline.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, please move."

She was buffeted out of the way by Foaly's wide behind. He pulled the top of the tank open and adjusted a few of the tubes circuiting down into the mask around the boy's face.

"You gave him a haircut," noted Holly, still smiling despite her friend's rebuff. "He looks like a Beatle."

Foaly scowled. "Yeah well, it was that or Tarzan so take your pick."

"I'm just imagining his reaction when he wakes up. You know what he's like about his hair."

His expression darkened. "Holly…"

"Yeah?"

Foaly looked at her. "You know this is a long shot don't you? This… this may not work. In fact, it's most likely _not_ going to work."

Her smile vanished. "What? What are you talking about? It's him! You've done it! You've done everything he told you to do–"

"But still." Foaly's long face was anxious, grim. "He would have had to have held on for _six months_…"

Holly remembered the struggle from the time stream. The struggle not to simply meld with all the universe, melt back into nature. She had barely made the journey back from eight years ago, only managed it due to Artemis's spirit yelling at her to keep a grip, No.1 reeling her closer with his signature magic… She couldn't imagine six months alone in it. In the beauty of the grounds of Fowl Manor. Why wouldn't he have laid down amongst the Eden-like countryside, to his home, his people, become the light, the breeze, given himself back to the earth? His body had. Would the soul have followed it?

Holly clenched her fists. "No. He wouldn't have given us instructions if he hadn't fully intended to come back."

"He… He may not have had much of a choice, Holly."

The elf didn't want to look at her friend. A quiet moment passed, the clone fogging up the clear, plastic mask that was helping him breathe.

"You know…" said Foaly eventually. "I've been thinking."

"Anything nice?" asked Holly acerbically.

"Well… you know…" He gave a strange smile, "that we're… that we're sort of his parents now?"

This, Holly had not been expecting.

"_What_?"

"Here me out!" said Foaly, holding his hands up. "Here me out."

Holly was staring at him as if she wanted to shoot him. "In what _possible_ way are we his parents?"

"Well…" Foaly scratched at the back of his neck. "You provided the DNA and I… I grew him for six months–"

"In a _tank, _not a _womb_," she spluttered. "And that DNA came from Artemis! Not from… from…"

"But still – in role duty anyway – I'm still sort-of the mum and you the dad…"

Holly's face dead-panned. "No. Just _no. _And when he wakes up, _please _do not start this discussion again. It's weird, and knowing him, he'll probably want to talk about it."

"He wasn't born from Angeline!" insisted Foaly. "That body was buried! I had to drill him a belly button so I could put the nutrient feed–"

"_Stop!_" The elf had actually clapped her hands over her ears. "Please, for the love of Frond, _stop_."

Foaly shut his mouth and Holly's hands slowly descended from her head.

"I mean it. Artemis's parents would hardly appreciate this and I _really _don't. Can you just get him sealed up and we'll get on with getting his soul back, please? We're wasting time."

The centaur was still for a second.

It had been a strange six months. The little embryo which he had hefted into his house 176 days ago had grown and changed so much. He had fed it, protected it, nurtured it, at times even _sang _to it. It had become a part of his family. Had gained a nick-name, become a playmate for his son. He had watched over it, sacrificed for it (he felt a twinge of guilt then for the lies he had told Caballine) and now…

"Foaly," said Holly quietly, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm alright," said the centaur, sniffing thickly. "I just… I just hope this works. I really hope this works."

She gave a tight, lop-sided smile and closed the lid of the chrysalis.

* * *

**And there it is :) Again, a little weird... Hope that brain bit didn't freak you all out unduly... **

**Review?**


	5. Little Lidded Boxes

**This is one that some of you may recognise... I posted it last year (I think) and deleted it earlier this year for some unknown bloody reason. **

**Anyway - this is for all you A/H saps. I hope you're satisfied ;)**

**And the soundtrack is 'Faithfully' by Journey (they're in America! They need a big, cheesy American love ballad!)**

* * *

Little Lidded Boxes

'_Artemis!_' Her voice was faint, straining to be heard above the winds whipping into her open helmet. She had folded her arms across her chest, clenched her gloved hands into fists. _'Artemis!'_

The man in question turned to smile at her, releasing his own, thinly-gloved hands from around the rail of the boat. 'Holly!' he said happily. 'You're here!'

Holly Short scowled and trudged the extra few metres to his side, her wings folding neatly into the rig at her back. 'Yeah, I'm here,' she grumbled, struggling to stay steady as the deck tipped beneath her numbed feet. 'Though I haven't a c-clue why.'

'You look cold.'

'W-well n-noticed.'

'Stay here.'

She watched as he strode towards the boat's cabin, catching a glimpse of the big man behind the helm. Holly gave a shaky nod and raised her hand. Butler nodded back. Then Artemis came out again, opening a large coat in his hands.

'Here.'

Holly shoved her arms through the sleeves, Artemis helping to pull it over her shoulders.

'T-thanks.'

'No problem.'

Holly shivered once more, pulling the hood up over her helmet. 'M-my suits h-heating core f-failed somewhere o-over O-Ohio.'

'Ah.'

He put his hands back on the rail and went back to staring at the view.

And what a view it was. They were cruising along the East river, just coming under the bulb-lit, steel behemoth of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was evening, and they could still hear the hectic horns and blasts of the city even above the chug of the barge's engine. They could see the lightning blur of traffic streaming along FDR Drive and the towering, star-studded skyscrapers that made the New York City skyline so infamous.

Holly relaxed against the safety bar; if it weren't for the stupid cold and the pollution stinging up her nostrils, it could almost have been described as a perfect night.

Artemis looked at her, watching her red fringe whipping across her face and the steady, peaceful gaze of the eyes beneath it.

The elf sighed heavily. 'So,' she said. 'Why am I here again?'

Artemis blinked, his wits temporarily blown away. 'Er…'

'_Please_ say you remember.'

He scowled. '_Yes_. Yes, of – of _course _I do.'

Seeing Artemis just that little bit flustered made Holly's heart thrum that little bit quicker.

'Well?'

Artemis reached a hand inside his jacket.

For one _bizarre_ moment, Holly thought he was going to pull a gun, but what came out with was quite a bit different. It was a box: small, red and lidded. Holly's eyes widened. She didn't know a whole lot about Mud Men and little lidded boxes, but she knew enough–

'A-Artemis,' she stuttered, the cold having nothing to do with her sudden speech impediment. 'W-What are you–?'

Then Holly's heart almost stopped as Artemis sank down to one knee.

'Holly Coral Short…' he began.

Her breathing had become painful, grating in her throat.

'Would you do me the honour…?'

_Oh My Gods._

'Of holding this box while I re-tie my shoelace?'

There was a frozen moment, Artemis smiling up at her, Holly staring down before–

'_You_–'

Artemis yelped, his arms curled protectively over his head as the elf whacked him repeatedly about the shoulders and neck.

'_You_–'

'Ah!'

'_Complete_–'

'Holly!'

'_And_–'

'Stop!'

'_Utter_–'

'Don't!'

'_Mud-Weasel!_'

She finally stopped her assault, her chest heaving. Artemis risked a glance up.

'I'm sorry,' he said quickly. 'I'm _so_ sorry.'

Holly continued to glare at him, her eyes a little brighter than they had been a minute ago. 'So you … So you should be… _Scaring _me like that. _Frond_…'

Artemis used the hand rail to lever himself up again. 'Scaring you?'

'Yeah,' she breathed, still flustered. 'I thought… I thought you were going to ask…'

'What?'

'_Matrimony_!'

Artemis bit his lip and Holly's eyes immediately narrowed to slits. 'What?'

He shook his head, avoiding her face. She growled at him. '_What?'_

His mouth twisted, and he hesitated, before repeating in a strained falsetto. '_Matrimony!_'

She punched him.

'_Ow_!'

'Do not _mock_ me, Artemis Fowl.'

'But it was _funny_–'

She tried for another blow but he dodged. Holly leant back onto the rail with a huff. After a few moments of fuming she realised she still had the box in her hands. 'So what _is_ in here then?' she snapped.

Artemis's expression sobered. 'Open it.'

Holly looked at him. His voice had dropped. He was no longer teasing or playing with her now. His mismatched eyes were steady, mature. He was all mature now, a grown man of twenty-three years.

'What's in it?' she repeated quietly.

'Open it.'

'Artemis–'

'I promise it won't explode.'

She cupped her hand hesitantly over the lid and cranked it back.

Inside… was a button.

Holly groaned. '_Artemis_.'

'What?'

'What _is _this?'

'Press it.'

'No _way._'

He looked out across the river and sniffed bracingly. 'Well you'd better do it soon or it'll be too late.'

Holly's face dropped. 'And what's that supposed to mean?'

'Well… too late for us I should say.'

'_What_?'

He smiled at her. 'Press it.'

She didn't move. She just looked out across the river again, at the swarms of human life only a few hundred metres from her. She felt the human life beside her move just that little bit closer.

_Get a grip. He's not even touching you. _

'What if it makes the moon drop out of the sky?'

He pointed at her sharply. 'I did that _once, _and I _acknowledged _that it was a mistake at the time.'

The boat had slowed to a crawl, the engine barely murmuring in the water.

'It's now or never,' he whispered.

They were sailing right by the tip of Manhattan. The light from the buildings were reflected back in Holly's eyes and for a moment she couldn't quite help but be struck by them.

'Now or never.'

Excitement and trepidation were sparring in the pit of Holly's stomach. She already knew which one was going to win.

'What will it do, Artemis?'

'Do you trust me?'

The boat engine cut and there was silence.

She tore her eyes from the city – 'with my life' – and plunged the button down.

For a second nothing happened…

And then every light in every building along the Manhattan side of the East River went out.

'Oh my Gods,' whispered Holly, as the already tumultuous noise of car-horns reached a staggering crescendo. 'What have you _done_?'

Artemis grinned into the darkness.

Holly grabbed his sleeve, pulling him down to her level. 'Artemis, I swear to–'

Then there was a deafening squeal. Holly swore and jumped back, Artemis catching her elbow.

A hundred, meteoric lights shot across the sky.

Holly's eyes widened. 'What–?'

_Boom!_

Each rocket exploded, one by one, showering a suddenly shadowed Manhattan with stars.

Holly gaped at them.

Artemis laughed and there was another _crack_, violet glitter raining down from above. 'Fireworks,' he announced, almost gleefully, 'presidential fireworks to be exact. She's coming to the city in a few days but I decided they could be put to better use–'

He was interrupted by another cataclysmic _Bang_!

Holly ducked. 'How did you–?'

_Bang!_

'I know a man. He has all the numbers– '

_Boom!_

He looked at her and it was her turn to laugh.

_He's amazing,_ she thought. _He's amazing, beautiful, magnificent– _

_Crack!_

His expression was exultant, his gaze darting from rocket to rocket, spark to spark. Holly knew she should be watching the show above but she couldn't, she couldn't take her eyes off him. His pale skin was flashing with colour, emerald, fuchsia, scarlet, gold…

'Artemis.'

He looked at her, drawn by her voice. 'A-hmm?'

She reached up a small hand and put it to his cheek. 'Artemis…'

The sky fell silent. There was nothing in the darkness, only the crowing chaos of car horns and a new, sharp smell of smoke.

Holly suddenly felt like an actress on stage and it was time for her cue.

'Artemis,' she said quickly. 'I… I know this isn't exactly a new thing… I mean, I know we've had our moments, over the years, but… And I know, I _know_ I said that… that we couldn't but I–'

Light suddenly exploded into her face again. The lights of Manhattan had re-awoken. She flung a hand over her eyes, squinting into the sudden glare. Artemis faced it without a shield. She glanced out from under her elbow, her mismatched eyes dilating. Then her arm dropped as she studied the new skyline, noticing that not all the lights had come back on. There were shapes illuminated using the windows of the buildings… no not shapes… _letters._

'Artemis…?' she asked shakily.

'Holly,' he said, repeating the words now ignited in two hundred foot letters across New York. 'I know it's been a while since I last told you this.'

The buildings all blacked out again, only to relight with a new phrase.

'But at the time I wasn't really feeling myself.'

On the last building there wasn't a word – only a simple constellation, the belt of which every child would recognise.

'I also know that you told me I could never kiss you again.'

The words faded slowly this time, painfully drifting the night back to black.

'But I wonder now whether you've changed your mind.'

Holly put a gloved hand to her mouth.

'And since I've now recovered mine…'

She gave a small laugh.

'I just wanted to tell you… that I love you.'

The last four words exploded across the skyline, expanding until the lights burnt through Holly's eyelids and into her retinas.

'And wish to fly and fight and _feel_ with you.'

Artemis's voice lowered slightly.

'For as long as my life allows…'

Holly immediately put her hand back up to his face and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. Behind them, the lights of FDR Drive filtered back into place. She put her boot on the first rung of the rail and stood up so she was just above him. Artemis immediately wrapped his arms about her. They stayed there for a long moment, just holding each other: Holly with her arms about his neck, Artemis's face pressed to hers.

'I love you so much.'

Artemis's brow furrowed. 'I'm sorry?'

She pulled back, looking him straight in the eye. 'I love you.'

And then her gaze dropped to his mouth. Artemis's dropped to hers.

'So…'

'Yes, I've changed–'

Holly felt like her brain had been knocked into the back on her head, such was the force of Artemis's kiss. But that didn't stop her reciprocating; she clutched her fingers into his hair, bringing him closer…

Then there was a blast of a horn. Artemis and Holly whipped around. Butler was stood in the Captain's cabin, pulling on the blower and whistling at the top of his lungs. Soon, all the boats of the New York City Harbours had joined in, though probably hadn't a clue why. The cacophony of horns on land reached a new level and Artemis grinned, pressing his forehead to Holly's.

'I love you.'

'I love you too.'

Something clicked in Holly's hand. She looked down. The button inside the little box had fallen out, revealing a cushioned section below it. Something was glittering in its folds.

Artemis slowly unwrapped his arms from Holly's waist, sinking down to one knee whilst keeping his eyes on hers.

'Holly Coral Short…'

* * *

**D'aww :')**

**I lost all the reviews for this last time so it'd be lovely to harvest some ones :)**

**Humour me?**


	6. Yes, Artemis?

**Found the first one whilst rifling through a few old fics. Dusted it off and decided to write the rest. Ah, Butler. He really did put up with a lot...**

**WARNING - SPOILERS FOR TLG!**

* * *

Yes, Artemis?

_Book One_

'Butler.'

'Yes, Artemis?'

'I want you ready the jet for Vietnam.'

'Vietnam, Artemis?'

'Yes, Butler. Ho Chi Mingh City to be precise. And then I want you to call ahead and hire a highly impractical jeep for when we arrive.'

'Highly impractical jeep, Artemis?'

'Yes, Butler. Then we shall meet with a man who tells me he can show me an inebriated slum fairy – for a price of course.'

'An inebriated slum fairy, Artemis?'

'Yes, Butler. We shall then pay the man and ply the inebriated slum fairy with promises of whiskey and Magic Water in exchange for twenty minutes with its bible.'

'Its bible, Artemis?'

'Yes, Butler. You shall then photograph the bible, which is written in a language that has never been translated by any human in the history of all time, inject the inebriated fairy with bugs and Magic Water… and leave.'

'Right.'

'Any problems, Butler?'

'None, sir. When would you like to set off?'

_Book Two_

"Butler."

"Yes, Artemis?"

"Now that we've just regained consciousness after having been hypnotized, kidnapped and unconsciously interrogated by fairy police officers I wish to go to France."

"France, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. Where I have volunteered for you to enter the home of a mesmerized, mystery-controlled PI Parisian and ask him about his large collection of triple A batteries which are currently being used to power fairy killer-lasers."

"Fairy killer-lasers, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. The fairies shall arm you with a wrist watch."

"A wrist watch, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. In return for this, two fairy police officers shall escort us to Russia where we shall proceed to walk through miles of uncharted Arctic snow field leagues away from the location where my father is currently being held as a mafia hostage."

"Uncharted arctic snow fields, Artemis? But wouldn't the fairies, with the most advanced technology under or over the earth, after they've just transported us hundreds of miles in vehicles easily capable of breaking the sound barrier, be able to provide us with some form of car to get us to your father?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, Butler."

"Of course, Artemis. I'll get my gun."

_Book Three_

"Butler."

"Yes, Artemis?"

"I wish to go to London to have lunch with a Chicagoan megalomaniac with known mobster connections."

"Known mobster connections, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. I will then demonstrate to him a piece of technology which makes an Ipad look like an abacus and then tell him he can't have it."

"No, Artemis?"

"No, Butler. He'll probably be angry and possibly murder us both, but I shall have ordered the swordfish and be too busy luxuriating in my own false sense of superior invincibility by that point to care."

"Hmm. Yes, Artemis. I'll get the car keys."

_Book Four_

"Butler."

"Yes, Artemis?"

"I've organised for my whole school year to go to Munich for a week in order for me to steal a rare painting from a highly secure Swiss bank. I shall do this in broad daylight."

"Broad daylight, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. You shall help me in this endeavour by holding up a large piece of paper for three minutes thereby shielding my actions from the singular and extremely conveniently-angled CCTV camera set in the far corner of the room. I shall then break into the painting's security box, which shall bizarrely be in the same viewing room with me, and steal it. Any questions?"

"Shall I be required to speak in an accentuated German military manner?"

"It wouldn't harm, Butler."

"I'll get my passport."

_Book Five_

"Butler."

"Yes, Artemis."

"I wish to go to Barcelona and stand on a pavement for approximately half an hour. I shall then walk straight into oncoming traffic, shake hands with a freshly-materialized demon and vanish first to the moon, then to the sea before finally appearing before Gaudi in the nineteenth century to advise him on aesthetic construction."

"Aesthetic construction, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. I'll then congratulate you on your taste in jewellery, admire a change in my own prehensile structure and request that we go to the opera."

"The opera, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. Then a fairy police officer shall be unable to save a demon that has been shot with a walking stick, I'll not be able to help perving on a girl whom has just ordered the shooting of a demon with a walking stick and you shall sit back and film it all on your watch."

"Sounds like a pleasant afternoon. I'll get my coat."

_Book Six_

"Butler."

"Yes, Artemis?"

"My mother is ill with a rare, usually fatal fairy disease despite it having being eradicated eight years ago and her having never had any contact with any member of the People besides the elfin police officer I kidnapped six years ago who in any rate does not have the disease. I assume that she has caught it from me, despite the fact that I am also perfectly healthy and have also never been in contact with the disease – which in any case, as I have just stated, was eradicated eight years ago. I must go back in time and capture a lemur in order to drain its brain fluid."

"Brain fluid, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. You shall attempt to go to a Chinese island but instead be waylaid by a past version of a psychotic, pixie murderer."

"Psychotic pixie murderer, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. You'll then spend the afternoon collecting animal fat in a barrel and eventually suffer a cardiac arrest."

"I'll ready the jet, Artemis."

_Book Seven_

"Butler? Five, five, five, five."

"Yes, Artemis?"

"Your sister wants you to go to Mexico. She is telling me this, not you, through a mysterious text message I have just received on my personal phone because... just because. There is no need for you to be suspicious of my actions. Five, five, five, five, five, five, five.

"Five, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. Five, five, five."

"And you shall be alright if I leave you on your own?"

"Of course, Butler. I shall definitely not take myself off to a secret meeting in Iceland where I shall present my prototype of a plastic-snowflake cannon that could possibly safe the earth's environment to FIVE members of the People's most important military staff. Five, five. _DON'T TOUCH THE ORDER OF MY THINGS! _Five, five, five."

"I'd best get going then, Artemis."

_Book Eight_

"Butler."

"Yes, Artemis?"

"Everything in the world that has had anything to do with a certain psychotic technologically-gifted pixie in the last eight years has exploded. This, for some reason, does not include nuclear weapons or the chrysalis she used to clone herself, nor the clone."

"The clone, Artemis?"

"Do not worry about it, Butler. You shall tip whisky onto a band of zombie pirates, paint my face, throw me into a lake, lose the ability to grow head hair and eventually wake up to find that I have sacrificed my life in order to save all of humanity."

"All of humanity, Artemis?"

"Yes, Butler. But it shall be alright. It shall not be your fault."

"No, Artemis."

"And I shall return to you."

"Yes, Artemis."

"And it shall all be right again."

"Yes, Artemis. I'll get my flak jacket."

_Epilogue_

"Butler?"

"Yes, Artemis?"

"You know I love you, don't you?"

"Yes, Artemis. I love you too."

"Butler–"

"No, Artemis. Just no."

The End

* * *

**Really, pleasantly, surprised by the popularity of these little snippets. I'm loving all your thoughts and support.**

**Cheers, guys! **

**And please keep it up!**

**Holi**


	7. Cora

**Another one I wrote a little while back and dusted off and... sort of finished. I've got more that I can write of this but I'll test the waters first...**

**Oh and yeah, I'm not Eoin Colfer. I'm his sister... Mildred. **

* * *

Cora

_00:46_

"And may I have your name please?"

"It's Holly. Holly Short."

"_Ah!"_

"And your date of birth please, Holly?"

"Forth of the second, nineteen eighty-nine–"

"_Holly–"_

"Hush, Arty, I know."

The nurse behind the desk raised an eyebrow.

"He's fine," assured the shorter woman, squeezing her husband's hand.

The nurse looked back at her computer screen. "And how long ago did your waters break, Ms Short?"

"About twenty minutes–"

"Twenty seven minutes ago!"

"And have you been experiencing any contractions?"

The man answered again. "Each around five minutes apart. I estimate dilation at two centi– _ah_ –metres."

Holly smiled tightly at the nurse. "He's been very involved in the pregnancy."

The doors swept open behind them and in walked Butler, a flowered duffle bag swinging from one massive hand. "Holly? Artemis? Are you alright?"

The Fowl heir groaned weakly and the manservant was immediately at his side.

'Okay then, Ms Short,' said the nurse, dragging her eyes away from the woman's strange husband. "I'll just take you to your room and your midwife should be in to you shortly."

Holly nodded. She gripped Artemis's hand tighter and began to waddle across the reception, her other palm laid flat on her swollen belly.

"Deep breaths," grumbled Butler in Artemis's ear. "Deep breaths, Artemis."

The younger man gritted his teeth.

_Eight Months Previously_

"No, honestly, Carter, I can't get out to the islands right now."

There was an irritated, tinny response from the phone's speaker.

"Then mail me the documents. I'll sign them and have them delivered back to you."

Artemis Fowl glanced up as a figure appeared in the doorway of his office.

_One moment,_ he mouthed to them before drawing his eyes once more to the notes on his desk. "Sorry, Carter, I didn't quite catch that..."

The figure moved closer, close enough to rest their hands on the back of his chair. Artemis reached his fingers blindly behind him, linking them with the newcomer's own.

"The Antigua files have nothing to do with this."

He stroked the smooth gold of the ring he had placed there not two years before.

"They were liquidated by Benson last quarter."

"Artemis."

"Then sell them. God knows we've had interest."

"Artemis."

"Which is why we have the insurance of the Hong Kong accounts. Any loss we suffer as a result of–"

"Artemis, I'm pregnant."

The phone dropped from his hand.

_04:57_

Artemis bounced gently on the gym-ball, his eyes closed, his breathing deep, his face pressed to Holly's midriff.

"It's alright," she was murmuring, smoothing back his hair. "You're doing really well, Arty. Really well."

Butler was watching them from his seat in the corner. He was hunched over in much the same way his charge was, his wizened features drawn and taciturn.

"Keep calm. In… out. In… and out."

Artemis swallowed. "It hurts so much."

"I know. I know."

"No. You don't; that's the _point_."

Holly and Butler exchanged a glance.

The former elf leant over her husband. "Do you want to have a walk around?"

"_No_."

"Artemis–"

"Don't 'Artemis' me– _Ah_."

His whole body stiffened, his breathing suddenly choked off. He clenched his teeth together and fisted the soft cotton of Holly's maternity shirt. The woman whispered into his hair, rubbed his back, leant into his pull. His breath hitched and he cried out. Holly closed her eyes.

"It's alright–"

"No. No it's– _Ah!_"

"I'm here. I'm here."

He gave another strangled cry, pressing his nose to his wife's rounded stomach. Butler's lips tightened.

_Seven months, thirty days, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes previously_

Carter's tinny voice could still be heard talking from the telephone's receiver.

"I'm… sorry?" repeated a shell-shocked Artemis.

Holly's eyes were flickering around his office, her fingers jittering. She took a sharp breath and spoke on the exhale. "I said I'm pregnant."

The human nodded meekly. "Yes, I rather thought you had."

He stood up.

Holly frowned as he moved towards the door. "Artemis–"

"Be with you in a moment, dear."

"Dear? _What_–? Artemis, we need to discuss this!"

"Yes. Indeed."

He had barely reached the connecting corridor before his knees buckled.

_08:35_

"Okay, right… I'd say you're about six centimetres dilated now Holly, so most of the way there."

The midwife smiled and pulled off her surgical gloves. Artemis's eyes uncrossed.

"What about an epidural?" asked Holly.

The midwife checked a monitor. "Do you really think you need one? You seem to be handling the birth very well so far."

Artemis banged a clenched fist against the armrest of his chair.

Holly winced. "I'm… I'm just good at keeping it in."

"It's a serious procedure, Holly. I wouldn"t recommend it unless you are in uncontrollable, unbearable pain–"

"_She's in uncontrollable, unbearable pain!_"

The midwife started and turned towards the speaker. "Mister Fowl–"

"Give it to her!" shouted Artemis, grasping Butler's hand in a death grip. "_Now!_"

The woman was momentarily speechless. "Mister Fowl, your wife is really coping _very_ _well_–"

"Ha! Very– _Ah–_!"

Butler's eyes widened. He rubbed his spare hand more firmly over his charge's shoulders. Artemis's knuckles were white against Butler's tanned own.

"_Please," _he begged. "Please!_ Just do it. Just do it."_

'Calm,' breathed Butler in his ear. "Calm, Artemis."

The younger man swallowed then: "_Fuck_!"

The midwife gaped. "Why… What… _what is wrong with him?"_

"Sympathy pains," offered Holly weakly.

Her husband sucked in another sharp breath and screamed.

_Six months previously_

"'_What To Expect When You're Expecting a Half-human, Half-fairy Hybrid_.'"

Holly smiled, glancing up at the book held in Artemis's hand. "Did Foaly send us that?"

"Who else?"

"And what does it say?"

Artemis flipped through it. "It's completely blank."

"Nice… I suppose they can't have found an experienced enough author to write it."

His lips twitched. "No, I suppose they can't have. Though judging from my research, the birth process for fairies seems practically identical to the human one." He sat down beside Holly. "Natural birth, I mean."

"Hmm." She allowed her legs to be lifted into Artemis's lap. "All the blood and the whole 'exit-from-below' thing."

Her husband wrinkled his nose. "Indeed."

Then suddenly there was a little smile on Holly's face. "There are a _few_ things different though."

"Such as?"

"Pain relief."

"Yes, I suppose the People _would_ have far more advanced analgesics than humans."

"That's… not really what I meant."

Artemis began to rub at her feet with one hand. "Then what did you mean?"

"Well, in fairy culture, it's the male who takes the pain in labour."

His hand stopped.

"What?"

Holly dug her elbows into the sofa, levering herself upright. "It's the male who takes the pain."

"What…? _How?_"

"Magic," said Holly. "It's a part of the bond made during the binding ceremony."

Artemis and Holly's binding ceremony had taken place not long after his twentieth year. Holly had flown them to a ritual site, one which they both had long memories of, and proceeded to pluck a single acorn. They'd then buried it together, knelt upon the earth, the elf whispering in ancient Gnommish. The same magic had exploded into both of them, meshing into their skins, racing through their veins and nerves, searching them, knowing them. Artemis had then understood Holly's insistence that they do it alone, her blush at the suggestion that they marry before an audience. It wouldn't have been right. They were wrapped in each other, living in each other…

Then the light had eventually faded, the magic twinkling like fallen stars about their bodies, leaving the pair panting and slumped in the dirt. Holly had got up first, crawling to her new husband's side.

"Are you… alright?" she'd asked.

He'd laughed, genuinely laughed, wiping tears away from the corners of his eyes. "Yes," he gasped, and then looked at her. "Yes…_Yes_."

Now he wasn't laughing. "You mean that during _your _labour I–"

"Will be the one screaming in agony. Yes."

"That seems hardly–"

"I'll already have had fourteen months of carrying him or her around; it's _very_ fair that you have the last few hours of discomfort."

His lip curled. "Well," he said, with sort of pompous finality. "I am still a human. Perhaps it won't affect me."

Holly's head had sunk back into the cushions. "Yeah… Perhaps."

_12:07_

"Eight centimetres."

Artemis took another deep suck on the mouthpiece.

The midwife scowled at him. "Mister Fowl, the gas is really for your wife's use–"

Butler gave her a look.

"We're nearly there, Arty," murmured Holly, rubbing his arm. "Nearly there."

"Just… shut up," he said between breaths. "Just… shut up."

The midwife was affronted. "Mister _Fowl_. It is your wife in labour here, not you."

"Just… shut up."

Butler tightened his grip on his not-so-young charge's shoulder. "Artemis, control it."

The man was rocking like a tormented animal. He took another gulp from the mouthpiece.

"I know that a birth can be a stressful and frustrating time for the father," said the midwife, hands on hips. "You have no control over what is happening, and your _partner _is in pain, but there is still no excuse for rudeness –"

Artemis sucked in another breath.

_Three Months Previously_

"You haven't got a choice, Holly."

The elf looked up at her husband. Her hands were clutched to her belly, her nails digging into the tautened skin.

Number One caught the expression. "It would only be temporary, Holly," he assured her. "Five months and you'd be back to your own self."

She shook her head. "But my child… It… I _can't._"

Artemis's face hardened. "Would it really be that bad? So what if our child were human, Holly! They'd grow up above ground, in the sun!"

She shook her head, stroking her stomach.

Foaly laid a hand gently on her arm. "The baby already has a high human make-up, Holly. If it didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He glanced at the angry, purple marks streaking down from her navel. "Another few weeks and you're going to pop. And when you do, it won't be good news for you or the baby. This way, you will both have a much higher chance of surviving the pregnancy. And… And I hate to say it, Holly, but I think he or she will have a better life. At least if they're born all human they can fit solidly into one world… They won't just be a misfit in both."

"I agree," said Artemis.

Holly shot him a look. "You would, wouldn't you? This way they'd get to grow up in _your_ house, with _your _family_._ How could I care for a Mud Child underground?"

"A Mud Child?"

"A _human_."

He snorted. "Still the same, old prejudices."

"I love you," she said sharply. "I love you, but this is different."

"You married a Mud Man! You have coupled with a Mud Man! What _else_ could you have expected our child to _be_?"

She opened her mouth to reply when something inside her kicked and her words were twisted into a gasp. Her husband was beside her instantly. He ran a hand over her stomach, soothed the stippled skin.

Holly jaw was set. "I want there to be something of a fairy in our child."

"And there will be," said Artemis, looking up sharply, "of _course_ they will be. _You _will be their mother after all. And we can't know exactly how your transformation will affect the foetus. They could well be born with the capacity for magic. In fact there is a very high chance they _will_ be. They could have _your_ life span."

"But we can't know that." She braced herself, steadying herself for her next words. "One day, Artemis, I am going to have to witness your death. Please… please don't ask me to witness my child's."

Artemis's expression froze.

"You do it, or you and your baby aren't going to make it." This was from Foaly, who had stood from the corner with his fists clenched. Artemis may have been hard-faced about this from the start but now the centaur could see how it was breaking him. "You're being unfair, Holly. We've explained to you how there isn't a choice. You've married a Mud Man, loved a Mud Man and now, yes, you're probably going to have a Mud Child. You can either like it or lump it. But if you lump it, I'll tell you this: you won't be lumping it for very long…"

_12:20_

"_Butler_," said Holly in a warning voice.

The manservant quickly scooped her husband up into his arms.

"I've called for security!" shrieked the midwife. "This is _shameful!_ I will _not_ be treated like this in my own ward!"

"No!" gasped his charge. "I can't–" But his words were swallowed by a sudden scream.

"Get him out of here!" ordered Holly. "Artemis, please, I'll be fine!"

Her husband tried to yell another protest but he had already been hefted out the door. The maternity ward's security team followed them up the corridor: big, burly men, in black uniforms who Butler could've taken out with his little finger. But that would have been inappropriate, considering the setting, and he had had his orders from Holly. He could come back once the midwife had recovered from Artemis's verbal onslaught and his charge's every judgement wasn't being ruled by pain.

He jogged down the hospital's front steps, brooking the stares of the various ill and maimed. Ambulances blared out from the depot to his left, flashing and speeding, forcing him to stay on the pavement. Artemis punched out suddenly and swore.

"Hush," said Butler, somewhat uselessly. He jiggled the man over his shoulder, causing another somewhat colourful sentence, and fished his car keys from his jacket pocket. One click of the smallest button and the Bentley purred into view, driving of its own accord. He wrenched open the back door and laid Artemis, panting, along the champagne leather seats.

"Deep breaths!" he called, as he closed the door and hurried to the front seat. "Deep breaths, Artemis!"

The twenty-two-year-old punched at the minibar. "I want to push!" he yelled, as Butler shoved the key in the ignition. "I need to tell Holly to push!"

"I think she'll know!"

He flopped his head back, his slick fringe stuck to his face. He was drenched in sweat, his once pea-green shirt now darkened to emerald. "Ooooooooh!" he moaned as the car pulled off. "Ooooooooh!"

Butler drove until he was clear of the city, piling down the lanes out of Dublin at almost ninety miles per hour. Artemis continued to yodel from the back seat.

"It's alright," muttered the giant. "It's alright."

"Pull over!" screamed Artemis.

Butler was just taking a blind bend, thickets of bramble and brier towering eight foot on either side of the road.

"Er, Artemis. Now isn't exactly–"

"Pull. Over. _NOW!_"

And then Butler spotted a distant turning. He accelerated towards it before wrenching the steering wheel down and pulling up the handbrake. The Bentley squealed in protest, and Butler knew he'd be replacing all four wheels by this time tomorrow. The whole car bounced and jerked as they rumbled over the recently ploughed field before coming to an uneven, muddy stop. Butler lurched out of his seat and slammed the door behind him.

"It's _coming!_" yelled Artemis.

Butler wrenched open the rear door.

"Butler! _Butler!_"

Madam Ko's academy had prepared the manservant for many things; a male charge simulating a live birth was not one of them. For a moment, Butler didn't have a clue what to do. But Artemis was staring at him with terrified eyes - for the second time in his life, absolutely _terrified - _and Butler had to do something_._

"Butler," he panted. "I can't do it. It's coming. And I can't do it."

The manservant gritted his teeth and bent into the car.

"Look at me," he ordered. "Here. _Artemis_."

The young man swallowed and did as he was told.

"Hold onto my hands." The man's eyes were hard, determined. "We're going to do this."

"No. _No._"

"_Yes_, Artemis."

"I _can't. _I– I–"

"Artemis. We've been through worse than this."

His charge's derisive laugh was cut short by another shriek.

"Do you feel a contraction?"

"Yes… _Yes!_"

"Okay, well on my word I want you to push. Alright?"

"I can't, I _can't_."

"3…"

"No. No."

"2…"

"Neeegrrgggh."

"1… _push_!"

"Neeeeeeeeerrrggggghhhh_AAAAAARRRRRGGGGH!_"

Artemis's face was red, his cheeks wet. He was panting as if he'd run twenty miles.

"Good," said Butler. "Good, Artemis. Come on. Again."

The twenty-two-year-old shook his head.

"Artemis. Come on."

The man took a breath, bit down and _pushed. _His eyes were clenched shut, his hands gripping Butler's in a vice-like grip… then he released the tension in a gasp of exhausion.

"One more," encouraged Butler. "You're doing so well. Come on, Artemis. Come on."

It was another few seconds of pain. Butler watched the sweat drip from his charge's wrinkled brow, the absolute concentration, taking Holly's pain, her struggle in these last few moments. Possibly the most important moment of his young life. They hadn't believed this day would come. Artemis had been making comments about _magical emotional osmosis_ and how the entire concept was ridiculous. He was _human_, for God's sake... But he had thought that before. Butler hadn't thought this day would ever come either. He had watched over a lonely, socially-ignorant little boy all his life. Watched him shun people, offend people... But then Holly had happened. Butler had had hope. Then Opal had happened. For the last time. And he had thought, for a while …

Then Artemis let go of his hands, collapsed backwards onto the seats.

"She's here," he gasped. "She's…" He swallowed, laughed. "_here._"

"She?" repeated Butler, his train of thought broken, his voice strangely high. _"She?"_

Artemis nodded, the tears springing in his eyes as Butler felt his own _burn._ He looked down at the young man, sweaty, exhausted, beneath him and felt a sudden rush of warmth.

"Cora," whispered Artemis. "She's... She's here."

* * *

**Wouldn't that be a wonderful world if the men took the pain? Wouldn't have to go on Jeremy Kyle either then, if you weren't sure about paternal identity. You'd just wait for the right bloke to double over in agony when the time came...**

**Ah, if only. **

**And yes, Holly kept her 'maiden' name because she's a bloody modern woman.**

**;) **


	8. Let's Swap Haircuts Day!

**Jeez, I cackled so much writing this - I hope it gets a cackle from you lot.**

**There's one use of the 's' word but except that she's clean. **

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

'Let's Swap Haircuts Day'

"Sit please."

Artemis folded his arms.

"Oh come _on_," snapped Juliet. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I lose half an ear."

"Arty," she said flatly. "If I can handle shurikens I can handle scissors. Trust me."

There was a pause, and then–

"No, I don't think I shall."

Juliet sighed heavily and flumped down onto the end of his bed. "Fine! Just carry on walking around looking like a sheep dog then."

"Hmm, I think I just might."

Three minutes later

"You know that if I don't do it your mum will."

Artemis laid down his tablet. "Excuse me?"

"Your mum's been going on about cutting it for weeks now. She was thinking about attacking you on Tuesday but me and Dom managed to convince her to leave it."

He looked back to his tablet. "Well that's that then."

Juliet leant closer. "You didn't see the look in her eye, Arty. She meant business. Seriously, you'd be better letting me do it _now_, rather than her doing it later. She was showing me magazine cut-outs of what she was planning."

There was a pregnant, somewhat threatening pause.

"And what makes you think that you would do a better job?"

"Academy training."

"They trained you in _barbering_?"

"They trained us for _anything._"

There was another pause.

Artemis sighed and dragged his wayward fringe back from his forehead.

"If it is truly _that_ bad then why shouldn't I just summon a fairy barber?"

"Jeez_–_" sneered Juliet. "No, just _no._ Because A) You _know _it is that bad. And B) Arty, you know I love them, but the fairies have _no_ style whatsoever when it comes to hairdressing. Holly, bless her soul, is a prime example. Well, _used _to be a prime example. So is Trouble. Do you really want to look like Trouble?"

"Is that a serious question?"

"Exactly. So…I'm your only option really."

Artemis fingered the edge of his tablet. "And if I still refuse and continue to fight off both your's and my mother's advances until I have access to my usual services?"

There was another pause.

"Then I'll either wait until Orion's in the driving seat and cut it how _he _wants or I'll drug you and cut it while you're unconscious."

Five minutes later

Artemis stepped grudgingly out of the wet room, black waves dripping moisture onto the carpet and a thick towel wrapped round his shoulders.

"Juliet," he half-growled, gingerly sitting in the office chair the blonde had rigged to full height. "I'm warning you, if this goes wrong–"

"Arteee!" sang Juliet in a mock-French accent. "I do not know what you are talking about! I am ze best barber in all of 'Aven!"

"_Juliet_!"

"Front, s'il vous plaît!"

She turned his head sharply to face forward.

"Okay, whoa," she said, back in her usual Anglo-American manner. "I think I could make a ponytail out of this." She finger combed his hair back until it lay in a small bunch in her hands. "Yup! I _so_ can!"

"_Can you just get on with it?_"

"Yeah, yeah, alright. Jeez… Keep your hair on…"

She swallowed a snigger.

"You're hilarious, really."

"Okay, okay. I'll be serious. I will." She exhaled deeply and picked up the scissors. "Alright? I'm going in…"

Artemis's hands gripped the rests of his chair and–

_Snip. Snip. Snip…_

"There," said Juliet on an exhale. "No more ponytail."

She smiled and threw the hair to the floor as Artemis's shoulders deflated.

"See," she said cheerfully. "We're doing fine."

She ran the comb quickly back through his hair before raising the scissors again.

_Snip. Snip._

"Well, no, actually, I don't know," said Artemis. "We don't have a mirror."

_Snip-snip._

"Well I'm saying its fine."

_Snip._

"And I should just trust you on that?"

_Snip. Snip. Snip._

"Yup. Just trust me. Because everything's–"

_Snip._

"Shit," she said flatly.

Artemis rocketed out of the chair.

"_What have you done?_" he yelled, gripping the back of his head.

"Nothing!" she cried, eyes wide. "Nothing! Seriously! I just cut one bit a little bit shorter than the rest but I can fix it! It's okay!"

Artemis was nearly hyperventilating. "Then why did you curse? Why did you curse if it wasn't a serious mistake?"

"Honestly, Arty, calm down. It was just a slip of the tongue. I can fix it. It's fine."

The teenager's breathing began to level out. His eyes darted to the small pile of hair curling on the rug. He swallowed.

"It's alright," said Juliet slowly, as if to a spooked horse. "Just get back in the chair and we'll carry on. It's fine…"

_Please get back in the chair,_ she thought, _Dom will shoot me if he walks in now and you're freaking out _and _have a chunk of hair missing from the back of your head._

Artemis kept eye-contact…and sat. Juliet beamed.

"Okay," she said, picking up the scissors again. "Round two."

Seven minutes later

_Snip. Snip-snip._

"Can… Juliet, I just need to go to the bathroom."

"Nope. Your ass is staying there until I'm finished."

_Snip._

His hair was shorter now. Quite a bit shorter. And also not quite even.

_But I can still fix that_, thought Juliet determinedly. _I can still fix that._

She closed one eye and clamped her tongue between her teeth.

_Snip–_

"Hey guys!"

Juliet's hand jerked in surprise, causing her to hack off about two inches more than she'd meant to.

"_Holly,_" snapped Artemis, apparently oblivious. "You shouldn't just barge in like that!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Holly, closing the door and not really sounding sorry at all. "What are you both doing anyway?"

"Waiting for a number ten bus."

The elf was about to make a scathing counter-remark when she spotted the gaping, scalp-coloured hole on the side of Artemis's head.

_Shut up!_ mouthed the blonde from behind the boy's head, cutting her hand frantically across her throat. _I mean it! Don't! Say! A! Word!_

Holly's expression twitched.

"Er… Looking… good, Arty," she said slowly, her eyes still fixed on Juliet's. "Yeah. It… really suits you."

"You believe so?" he asked, a slight hesitance under-toning the usual self-confidence. "I haven't seen it myself yet but… but so far Juliet has conducted herself calmly and professionally."

The twenty-two-year-old winced.

"Erm… Yeah," said Holly, walking over to him. "Yeah, it's really looking good just… Can I…?"

She held her hands out for the scissors.

"Er, _no_," said Juliet.

Artemis twisted in his chair. "I'm afraid I must concur, Holly."

The elf's face fell. "What? You don't think I can cut hair?"

The two humans exchanged a brief look.

"Give them here," sighed Holly. "You just need it tidying up at the back is all."

Juliet glared at her. _What. Are. You. Doing?_

Holly shrugged. _I can't do any worse can I?_

Juliet's eyes narrowed.

"Holly, really," interjected Artemis, unaware of the silent conversation going on over his head. "Juliet was doing a fine job."

"A-hmm. Now stay still."

The teenager raised his hands beneath the towel. "Holly, please–"

"Oh for Frond's _sake._ I used to do _all_ the boys hair in the academy! I did Trouble's for years!"

"Yeah," said Juliet, "and if any more people get _that _haircut we could form a Commander Root tribute band."

Holly scowled.

"Fine!" declared Artemis. "Fine! If… if you only want to… to _tidy _it… then be my guest."

Holly held back a cackle.

Three minutes later

"Oh my God," breathed Juliet.

"What?" asked Artemis. "What is it?"

_He looks like a parrot,_ mouthed Juliet.

_I know! _mouth-screamed Holly, brandishing the scissors above the teenager's head. _I d'arvitting know, Juliet! But what am I supposed to do about it?_

"It's just so good," said the blonde, breaking eye-contact with Holly to pat Artemis reassuringly on the shoulder. "Seriously, I know we didn't have faith in her at the start, Arty, but Holly's got _real_ creative talent."

_I am going to kill you,_ mouthed Holly.

_Not before he kills you,_ replied Juliet jovially.

Then the door to the room opened.

"Greetings all!" called Foaly. "May the fours be– _What, in the name of all that is Frondly, have you done to that poor child's head?_"

Artemis wrenched himself out of the chair. "That is it! I am looking in a mirror!"

"_NO!_" screamed both Holly and Juliet, forcing him back into the chair.

"_No_," insisted Juliet. "It's not _done_, Arty!"

"How can it not be?" he snapped. "This must be the most drawn-out haircut I have ever had!"

He reached a hand up to feel his head only to have Holly yank it back down.

"Seriously," she said. "Artemis, it's a work in progress. But it won't be long."

He narrowed his eyes but settled, begrudgingly back into the chair.

_Foaly,_ mouthed Holly pleadingly. _Can you do anything?_

The centaur raised an eyebrow. "Honey, I'm a genius, not a miracle worker."

Holly shot him a look that would have felled several demon warriors at fifty paces.

Foaly sighed.

Two minutes later

Holly was watching Foaly work on what was left of Artemis's hair the way a small child would watch a live war-zone. Juliet wasn't watching at all. She was sat on the bed, her face pressed into a pillow.

_Snip. Snip-snip._

"You know, Arty."

_Snip. Snip._

"I think I may have found a new profession."

_Snip._

"This is really quite easy you know."

_Snip-snip. Snip._

"And therapeutic. I'm very relaxed right now."

"Terrific," drawled Artemis. "At least that makes one of us."

"There." Foaly retracted the scissors, slotting them into a spare loop in his utility belt and spinning Artemis to face the women. "_Voila_!"

Juliet looked out from behind the cushion, released a small sob, and buried her nose back in it. Holly managed a small grimace.

"Er… Arty?" she ventured.

He looked at her hopefully. "Yes?"

"You know your mum brought you all those new clothes?"

"Yes..?"

"Well… did she include any hats?"

Then the door opened for a third time.

For a moment all occupants were frozen. Butler stood, framed in the doorway, taking in the wincing Holly, the beaming Foaly, the cowering Juliet... Then he caught sight of Artemis and sighed as if he were tired of the very universe itself.

"I'll fetch the clippers."

Four minutes later

Butler put down his weapon of choice, blowing bits of black stubble away from the blades. Artemis ran a hand gingerly over his scalp.

"Oh _Hell_," he murmured as he felt only rough bristles beneath his fingertips.

Holly gave him a lop-sided, sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, Arty. It'll grow back soon enough."

"Yeah," added Juliet encouragingly. "It'll be back before you know it."

Artemis gave them a look. Both women fell silent.

Foaly interjected. "Y'know, Mud Boy, it actually sort of suits you."

Butler smirked. "I've been trying to get him to do it for years."

"Well, excuse me if I've never felt the urge to try the _prison camp _look before now," grunted Artemis.

He got out of the chair and walked back to his bed, still rubbing his shorn head.

"God, you really do look different," said Juliet, half-smiling as he flumped down beside her. "But, yeah, I think Foaly's right… It does sort of suit you. In a way I doubt I'll ever get used to."

Holly reached up and brushed her hand briefly against his stubble. She flicked her head to get her own hair out of her eyes and smiled. "Yeah, he is right." She rose quickly onto her knees, grabbed his head in both hands, and planted a kiss on top of his crown. "You look great."

The door to the room opened with a belch.

"_Pardon me_," said the new-comer, stretching his back with a grimace before slumping straight back in to a slouch. "Should _not _have eaten that ninetieth kudu steak."

"Good evening, Mulch," said Artemis.

The dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow. "Evening, Mud Boy. Do you know your eyes and head look _huge _like that? And…" He pointed a finger between Artemis and Holly. "Is this 'Let's Swap Haircuts Day' or something? And if so, can I get the centaur's?"

Both teenager and elf almost got whiplash with the speed they turned to look at each other.

"Oh. My. God," breathed Juliet.

Then Holly was up and off the bed. "Butler!"

The bodyguard picked up the clippers.

"It would be my pleasure…"

* * *

**And that's why I reckon Holly's back to the crew cut in The Last Guardian. **

**Review? ;)**


	9. Open Eyes

**Because I had a fabulous night last night and... yeah *grins in a thoroughly debauched way***

**WARNING - This one is deffo a 'T' people! Some sexy stuff ahead.**

* * *

Open Eyes

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Arty? May I come in?"

The teenager gave a long, suffering sigh.

"Yes," he called. "It's open."

Angeline smiled as she stepped inside. "Ah, good, you're alone. I've been wishing to speak with you about something…"

She closed the door behind her and Artemis turned fully from his work, resigning himself to at least ten minutes of unwelcome distraction.

"Now." Angeline seated herself carefully on the edge of his bed. "It's actually about a rather delicate subject matter."

"Soufflés? Lace?"

"Come now, Arty, don't be difficult."

"Then _what_?"

Angeline linked her hands. "Your father and I have been talking, and… well… we believe it might be high time that you found yourself… some alternative occupation besides your work."

Artemis studied his mother's rather staid features.

"Such as…?"

"A girlfriend."

Artemis twisted, swivelling his chair back towards his computers.

"Hear me out," demanded Angeline, as his fingers began to furiously type. "I have not finished."

"This discussion is futile, Mother."

"_Mum_. And I really don't think it is. We have already sought out some eligible suitors–"

"_Mother._"

"–the first of whom is arriving this Friday night."

"Gah!" Artemis pushed his chair back. "Why do you feel the need to always interfere, Mother? I am _fine_ just as I am!"

Angeline smiled pityingly at him. "I know you think you are, Arty, but we are worried. You spend all of your life either in here or at board meetings. The only women you meet are at least ten years older than you and only interested in shares or industrial investment… Or aren't human."

"I… I shall meet _women_ in my own time, Mother! Why should I be pushed so?"

Angeline held up her hands. "I am not pushing you," she said, "I am merely providing you with opportunities. If you do not happen to _like_ any of them then feel free to never see them again but…" She smiled. "If something happens, it happens."

The seventeen-year-old was seething. Angeline stood up and brushed the hair back from his forehead.

"Just do this," she said softly. "For me?"

There was a moment of silence… and then Artemis sighed, heavily through his nose. Angeline squeezed his arm.

"Good boy."

* * *

"Andrea Prenderghast," read Butler, in his typical grumbling tones. "Sixteen years old. Family hails originally from England but she's spent most of her life in Sicily with her parents and both fraternal and maternal grandparents. She has eight siblings, all girls… Christ. Five dogs, nine cats, four horses, three chinchillas and a Burmese python, Monty. Convent educated. Introduced to society last season and is heiress to a flourishing wine fortune."

"Any previous convictions?" drawled Artemis, straightening the line of his cuffs.

"No, she's completely clean."

"Or has simply never been caught..."

"_There you are_," hissed Angeline, spotting her eldest son as he walked towards her. "Hurry, she's waiting!"

"I am five minutes early–" began Artemis before he was seized, almost violently, by his mother.

"Be _nice_," she ordered, slapping at his lapels and swivelling him around to yank down the back of his jacket. "Ask questions, try to keep things light and _don't _for _God's sake_ bring up the mollusc thing with your brother."

Artemis opened his mouth to protest when Angeline spritzed something cool and peppermint-y between his teeth. He choked, breaking into a coughing fit, and just managed to catch sight of Butler waving him jovially goodbye before he was shoved into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Oh," said a small, surprised voice.

Artemis was pulling frantically at his collar, his eyes streaming. He heard shoes rustle across the carpet.

"Are you quite alright?" said the voice again. "Would you like something to drink?"

"_Yes_," he gasped.

There was a clinking of glass before something hard and surprisingly warm was pressed into his palm. He swigged it gratefully, half the contents already in his mouth before he realised it was wine. Strong wine. He choked again before forcing himself to swallow.

"Thank… thank you."

"_Nessun problema_."

He raised his head. Andrea Prenderghast was deeply tanned with wide, nut-brown eyes and fair hair pushed back from a moon-like face. Her smile was shy but not unpleasant, and the hands which she was clasping and unclasping at the lap of her dress seemed smooth and unblemished.

"I am Artemis," he said, putting down his half-empty glass, "Artemis Fowl the Second. It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

She blushed and shook his extended hand tentatively.

"I am Andrea. But… but I suppose you already knew that."

"Would you care to sit down?"

"Yes... please."

He led her over to the couch where she settled herself, hesitantly, onto the cushions.

"Perhaps something to drink?" he asked. "I suppose you already know we have wine, but we've also got..."

He frowned. He pushed aside the three bottles of Amarone perched on the side cabinet, along with the two decanters of vintage Muscadet and an already-opened Barbaresco… but there was still not a soft drink in sight.

"I'm fine with the Barbaresco," said Andrea as Artemis mentally cursed his mother. "It is a beautiful vintage."

"Yes," growled Artemis as he grasped the bottle. "I should think it is."

He sat down primly beside her and Andrea near snatched her glass. She tipped it to her mouth and drank… and drank… and drank…

"Ah," she gasped finally, clinking the empty crystal onto a nearby table. "Yes. That _is_ good."

Artemis's eyebrows cranked to half-mast. "Would you care for another?"

"Oh no," she said, flushing. "Not until you've finished yours."

He glanced down at his own, brimming flute. She smiled, shyly expectant.

_Well, Mother_, he thought. _Here's to taking opportunities._

And he drained his glass, grimacing slightly as the last, lukewarm dregs cleared his pallet. He sniffed sharply and shivered.

"Another?" asked Andrea brightly.

Then Artemis's flute was snatched from his hand and, before he had even a chance to blink, was replaced by another.

"_Cin Cin,_" said Andrea, before knocking her own glass back.

"_Salute,_" muttered Artemis, and followed her lead.

Fifteen minutes later and Artemis was laughing harder than he'd ever laughed in his life. Everything, and he meant _everything_ was suddenly, inexplicitly hilarious.

"And then!" he gasped "And then just _plucks_ it up by the shell and… and…" He bent over, clutching a hand to his stomach. "And he… he _sucks it out!_"

Andrea took a sedate sip from her wineglass.

"How amusing."

"I know!" screamed Artemis, tears streaming down his face. "I _know!_ Ha–!"

And he fell off the sofa.

Andrea pursed her lips and put her wine down on a low, Georgian cake table. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder, pulled off her pashmina, and stepped one foot over Artemis.

"What… What are you…?" Artemis giggled. "Your skirt is so… flouncy. It's like a giant jellyfish_–_"

"Hush."

"Don't _hush_ me. Know you who don't I _am_?"

And he burst into another fit of mirth as Andrea sunk down onto him. Her fingers quickly undid the front of his jacket, pushing it back over his shoulders and stripping it off his arms.

"Ooh," said Artemis, as Andrea tossed the blazer back onto the couch. "Cold."

"Please stop talking."

Then her lips were on his. The Irish heir's eyes flew wide, his fingers clenching into the pile of the rug. And then her face was hovering above his.

"You kissed me," he gasped.

"_Ci_," she replied.

"That's… that's the first time I've ever been kissed by a human."

Her brow furrowed violently. "By a _human_?"

"Well–"

A thin finger pressed to his mouth.

"I really don't want to know."

And then she was kissing him again, her hands pinning his arms back to the carpet, her knees gripping his hips. His eyes shut.

_This could actually be enjoyable, _thought Artemis, _once a rhythm is established, the sensation really is really quite–_

Then her mouth slipped over his jaw bone and bit, hard, into the side of his neck. He gasped, his arms ripping up from her grip. Andrea Prenderghast sat back, brushing her hair away with one hand.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Artemis swallowed, nodded.

"Good."

And the Fowl Heir's eyes clenched shut again as she wrenched him around, pulling him up on top.

* * *

"It was so nice of you to come," simpered Angeline Fowl, escorting a perfectly turned out Andrea to the front doors. "Please say you'll return again soon."

The Sicilian looked back over her shoulder to where Artemis was stood, his hair a crow's nest, his jacket eschew, trembling slightly, in the doorway of the second lounge.

"Yes," said Andrea, apparently flushed, timid. "I should think I probably shall."

She flashed him a brief smile, which he weakly returned, and then she was gone.

"Well!" sighed Angeline happily. "That certainly seemed a success."

Artemis didn't reply.

"But don't worry, you do not have to settle on her. There are still so many more young ladies for you to meet!"

Artemis still didn't reply.

"I shall get right on the phone now." She skipped over to him, gripping him by the shoulders and giving him a little shake. "Oh, Arty! This is so _exciting!"_

And it was ten minutes after his mother had left him when Artemis's knees finally gave way.

* * *

"Gertrude Lermstrader," read Butler from his file. "Seventeen years old. Lives in Berlin with her divorced father with no siblings or extended family to speak of. Current heir to the Lermstrader dog-costume empire."

"Any record of arrest?"

"She was done for possession a few months ago but she's since been through rehab in Switzerland."

"Drugs," muttered Artemis, doing up a cufflink. "Yes, drugs I can handle…"

Butler gave him a strange look.

"_Come on_," whispered his mother, gesturing him forward.

The teenager allowed her to smooth and yank at his clothes without protest but when she raised the mouth-spray he shot up a hand.

"No," he said, "I'd like to meet this one with a _clear _airway thank you."

She lowered it begrudgingly.

"Alright then," she sniffed, "but again, _be nice_. Missus Prenderghast said that Andrea was so _impressed_ by you."

Artemis shuddered and stepped into the next room.

Gertrude Lermstrader was stood in front of the seven-foot fireplace, scrutinising the Edwardian carriage clock placed atop the mantle with one, spiked _Doctor Martin_ boot propped against the hearth.

"Hello?" enquired Artemis.

"Hi," she replied in accented English, without turning around.

Artemis noticed the lit cigar in her hand.

"Are you… Gertrude?"

"_Ja,_" she said, still not turning to face him. "And you are Artegus, right?"

"Artemis," he corrected.

"_Ja_, that is vot I said."

The Fowl heir frowned.

"Would you care for a drink, Gertroud?"

"Gertrude," she corrected, finally coming away from the fire place. "Do you have any _Delirium_?"

Artemis stared into her heavily out-lined eyes, his peripheral vision noting the matted dreadlocks and the two rings in her lip.

"No," he said levelly, "I do not. I have Port, Chianti or a chilled Recioto."

She shrugged off her jacket – beaten leather, the back patched with the Union Jack – and threw it down on the rug.

"I'll have zat zen."

"Which?"

She stubbed the cigar out in a nearby crystal bowl.

"Just mix in a bit of everyzing."

She sat on the chaise longue and pulled at her laces. Artemis felt foreboding stir in the pit of his stomach.

"What… what are you doing?"

"Vell," she yanked off the left boot and started swiftly on the right. "I don't usually do zis, not with zee males you understand, but zey ver vatching us _twenty vor hours a day _in zat clinic and… a voman haz needs."

She discarded her boots and started to pull at the feet of her fishnets.

"And what?" demanded Artemis, putting down the bottle he had just picked up. "And you expect me to… to...? We've barely said ten words to each other!"

Gertrude got to her feet again, yanking at her top.

"Andrea, she told me you ver very good. Very discreet. Just not to let you anyver _near_ zee vine." Gertrude stood before him, bare but for her black, plastic knickers and what could only be described as a _holster_ not a bra_. _"Now," she said. "Have you got zee johnnies or vill I need to nip to zee shop?"

* * *

Seventy minutes later and Artemis was watching his mother escort a re-dressed Gertrude out of the door, rubbing distractedly at the new, raw, purple marks on his neck and collarbone.

"Good second date?" asked Butler lightly, coming to stand beside his charge.

_I shall need to research things if these meetings are to continue as they are, _thought the teenager, _or I shall soon be killed. _

_"_Artemis?"

His charge started slightly. "Hmm? What? Oh, so-so." Butler's eyes glanced over Artemis's now swollen, lipstick-black lips. "The conversation was a little too… insouciant for my taste," continued the boy, "but she seemed overall to be a sensible and pleasant young woman." He winced and turned away. "Tell Marla to start running my bath, Butler. I shall be taking it early this evening."

"Yes, Artemis."

And Butler watched the boy limp away, scrutinising the large, and numerous, burn marks in the back of his left trouser leg and the few links of chain creeping out the bottom of the cuff.

* * *

"Oh God!" cried the girl beneath him, her shoulder blades burrowing grooves into the carpet as her back arched. "Oh _God._"

Artemis was panting heavily. It was his ninth date in as many days and Lucia Jennipher McGeoghegen was proving herself to be much more exciting than Butler's initial description had hinted at. Then again, most of them had.

Lucia clenched her hand about the back of his neck, pulling him down and forcing his breathing to stop again.

_Thank you, Andrea,_ he thought absently. _For truly beginning the opening of my eyes._

Her tongue pressed against his as his hand pulled, gripped deep into her hair. All the hidden bobby pins and slides that had once piled it up into an artful mess were strewn in the shag pile beneath their bodies, most probably lost. It was of no matter. Kira, the sixth girl, had taught him how to plait and twist things back into place. No-one would ever know.

He felt her knee push at his hip and so he acquiesced, turning until it was her beneath him.

"Jesus," gasped Lucia finally, sitting back and breathing deeply, "they–" she swallowed, "–they had told me… to expect a lot… but…"

His closed his eyes and allowed his head flop to the side. He had built quite a reputation in the last week; _The Week_ as he liked to think of it. Apparently all of the eligible ladies of Europe were in contact some way or another and as the good news of him spread, were now _queuing_ _up_ to volunteer for one of Angeline Fowl's 'dates'.

Lucia lay down beside him, her neck resting on his outstretched arm. She was trembling slightly. He smiled at her.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded, swallowed.

"Good."

Then he noticed the time on the clock and slipped his arm from beneath her head.

"It is almost nine," he said. "We should neaten ourselves up."

Lucia frowned.

"Oh…" she said, as he pushed himself from the floor. "Yes."

Her hands crossed her chest as she sat up.

"Can I see you again?" she whispered ten minutes later, just as he was sliding the last pin back into place at the nape of her neck.

"Of course," he replied, tucking away a loose curl. "My mother knows your number."

"But I want _your _number." She turned to face him.

"M-my number?"

"_Yes_," she insisted. "Don't you…" She hesitated, then stood on tiptoes and placed the briefest of kisses against his jawline. "… want me to call you?"

He just looked at her.

And then the lounge door opened.

"Now, now you two!" chastised Angeline Fowl. "No frisky business! It's only your first date! Plenty of time for that later…" She smiled playfully at Artemis as she took Lucia by the shoulders and led her out. He watched her go with a furrowed brow.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Artemis jumped back almost a foot in surprise.

"_Holly!_" he snapped, as the laughing elf shimmered into view. "You shouldn't _do _that!"

"Aw, calm down," said the Captain, deactivating her wings and dropping down onto the chaise longue. "You're alright aren't you?"

"How long have you been there?" he demanded, his colour rising.

"Not long enough to get in on the _action_ don't worry."

"_What_–? _Action?_" he blustered."Have you been _spying _on me?"

"Nope. Foaly has. And before you explode, he hasn't seen _anything_! He wouldn't do that. He's just seen a lot of girls coming in here and most of them coming out with their heart rates hitting two-hundred. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, if you excuse the unfortunate phrasing..."

Artemis clapped a hand to his face, his cheeks burning.

"Why," he managed, after several meditative breaths, "are you here?"

Holly shrugged, plucking a cherry from a nearby bowl. "No reason. Well, except to see how you and the big man were doing. I just finished with a mission near Versailles. So. How _are_ you doing?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine. You look… stressed."

He rubbed his hand over his face again.

"It is… nothing to concern yourself with."

"Talk to me."

"No, really, it is nothing."

He picked up his loose tie from the arm of a chair as Holly's smile faded.

* * *

Angeline was humming lightly to herself, sat on the Georgian bench of her dressing table and brushing her hair out ready for bed. Then there was a soft knock at the door and she placed her brush down.

"Come in." She turned expectantly. "Oh, Arty!"

"Hello, Mum."

He shut the door behind him.

"Come here, darling," said Angeline, gesturing to her side. "I haven't seen you since this morning. I thought you had given up all this hiding yourself away…"

Artemis's forehead creased as he was pulled into his mother's arms.

"I've been working… and thinking."

"Thinking?" She leant back and brushed her son's hair away from his brow. "Now _that's_ a rare thing for Artemis Fowl to be doing."

He didn't return her smile.

"All these meetings, Mother… Mum… The dates… They need to end."

Angeline's expression fell. "But why? They are doing you so much good, Arty! I've never seen you so confident with women. So agreeable..."

He avoided her eyes. "But still. I cannot do them any more."

"Has something gone wrong?" she asked seriously. "Has… has one of them hurt you?"

"No," he said swiftly. "No it… it is not that."

"Then what…?"

He pulled away from the palm she had touched to his cheek.

"Please," he said, straightening. "Just promise me not to arrange any more."

Angeline nodded, letting her arm fall back to the lap of her dressing gown. "If… If that is what you wish."

"It is."

He turned away and walked back to the door. Then, with his hand resting on the handle, he paused.

"May I… may I borrow the documents from which you take their numbers, Mother? Mum?"

Angeline opened a draw of her dresser and pulled out the little, black filo fax.

"Silly, isn't it," she murmured, "that with all this technology I still like to write addresses down but there you are…"Her son accepted the outstretched book. "… some things never change."

He gave her a small, grateful smile and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Once he'd reached his own bedroom and drawn the curtains he lay back on his bed and flicked through the book.

"_McFlahearty_," he muttered. "_McFully, McGarter… McGeoghegen_."

He unlocked his phone with a quick swipe of his thumb and typed the number in. A voice answered after the third dial trill.

"Hello?" he said, putting the book down on the bed. "Yes, is that Lucia? It's Artemis. Artemis Fowl… Yes, I was… I was just wondering if you were free next Friday…?"

* * *

**Yup, Arty the S.T.U.D.**

**What did you think of him? ;)**


	10. Cora 02

**Another bit of this that I had written. Wanted to give you folks something since I'm back at uni now so updates shall be scarce ¬_¬**

**P.S. To all you Resurrecting Annie followers - I am writing Chapter 16, do not worry. But it's a beast, so you'll have to bare with me.**

**In the mean time...**

* * *

Cora 0.2 (AKA Pauli)

_Artemis Fowl was happily accepting of the fact that, at twenty-two years of age, his entire world was the size of two people. _

"_Who's the best girl? Who's a clever girl?" _

_The baby on the blanket, surrounded by an ocean of toys, nappies and other soft and practical paraphernalia that is part and parcel of taking care of a very new and tiny human, was person number one._

"_Are you a clever girl?" Person number two tickled her baby's belly. "Are you a clever girl?" _

"_Holly," said Artemis softly. "Stop asking her stupid questions…" _

_The elf ignored him and beamed at her baby._

"_Yes you are! Yes you are!"_

_Cora giggled as her mother pulled her gently into a sitting position and a line of dribble trailed down her chin. Holly quickly grabbed the edge of a blanket, wiping the baby clean._

"_Can't have you being all messy like your daddy now can we?" she murmured._

_Artemis looked affronted. _

"_Excuse me?"_

"_You dribble in your sleep, my love. It's sweet, but messy." She smiled and kissed him on the head as she left the room. "Stay there, I'm just going to grab some more wipes."_

_Artemis grumbled quietly, staring after his wife, before catching the somewhat intense stare of their daughter. _

"_You are _perfectly_ aware of your intelligence," he said wryly, sliding closer to her across the carpet. "You need no affirmation." _

_Cora didn't answer. She gazed openly at her father as if he were the most captivating thing on Earth. Her hands padded absently at the blanket._

_He smiled. "Who's a clever girl?"_

_She slapped at the floor, giggling, opening and closing a toothless mouth. _

"_Cora… It's Cora…" he told her._

* * *

Pauli García Butler was a knobbly-kneed six-year-old with a shock of caramel curls and eyes so dark they swallowed light. He had the thin lips and long nose of his Butler mother, but the freckles and sun-browned skin of his father: a home-grown Mexican García. He hardly spoke, though he had five languages in his head from which to choose from, spending most of his childhood watching; watching the world and observing. Always quiet, always aware...

Which was a good job, as Cora Fowl could make more than enough noise for the both of them.

"Then the troll just- just _bursts _down the door like BOOM!" The four-year-old threw her arms wide, her hazel eyes wild and dancing. "And the knight he- he…" She looks frantically around her before snatching up a woe-be-gone teddy bear with a sieve on its head. "And the knight – which is this bear because I haven't got a proper knight, – the knight says, 'wow! You're so _big' _and the troll says–" She grabs a stuffed gnome "– '_I'm going to smash you!_' But the knight's really brave, even though he's forgotten his armour–" She looks at the bear and pulls the sieve from its head. "Even though he's forgotten his armour, so he stands up to the troll and says 'stay away from my _sister'_!"

Pauli's brow furrowed.

"What?" Cora's arms fell. "The knight's got a sister – did I forget to tell you that bit?"

Pauli nodded.

She shook her head impatiently. "Well he's got a sister anyway." She raised her arms again. "And she's had a _spell_ cast on her so she's all silly. So when she sees the troll she says 'that's a pretty troll' and the knight, her brother, says 'shhhh! You're being silly!' and then the troll _rudely_ interrupts with – '_ARRRRRRGGHHHH!'_" She grimaces and pushes the gnome's face into the teddy bear's face. "But the knight's really brave so he stands up to the troll which is a _mistake _because the troll goes–" She tosses the bear to the floor and pummels it with the gnome. "_Smash smash smash _all over the knight, and because he hasn't got armour on he gets really hurt and his sister just _stands_ there because she's still silly..." She looks up at Pauli from the floor. "Are you still listening to me?"

The little boy stops playing with his fingers.

"Because then the troll's standing over the sister and saying '_you look tasty_,' and the sister says 'Oooooh' and is about to get it when–" The little girl leaps up, grabbing a winged doll from her bedside table. "–the fairy arrives!" She swoops the doll down and around before ramming it into the gnome. "And she smashes the troll out of the way, saving the knight's sister! But then–" Cora's eyes grow wide with the drama "– just when everyone thinks the troll is finished… it reaches up… and _pulls_ her out of the air!" She forces the gnome's gloved hand to swipe at the doll, crashing it to the floor beside the bear. "And now both the knight _and _the fairy are WIA. BUT!" The little boy starts. "BUT! The fairy has magic and she chooses to help the knight!So he rises up! Slowly… slowly… and slays the troll!" The teddy bear collides heavily with the gnome. "And so he saves his sister! And saves the fairy! And really just saves the whole day!" The four-year-old flops down onto the carpet, panting. "Any questions?"

Pauli fidgets. He drags a sleeve across his nose and stares at his knees. "If the fairy has magic," he says, in a soft, accented murmur, "why didn't… why didn't she just help herself?"

The little girl snorts, flicking her fringe back from her face, a flaming auburn that curls at the tips of her pigtails. "Because…" She twists her cupid-bow lips. "Because… because she's a _Butler_ fairy!" she decides. "She's down… and the knight's down… but she helps the knight because she's supposed to. LikeDommy would help Daddy if they were both hurt. See?"

Pauli's head hangs a little lower. "I guess so…"

Cora snaps at him. "You should _know_ so! _You're_ a Butler and one day _you'll_ have to help your person first when you're hurt."

"But the fairy doesn't help herself at all," he says, looking up at her. "She has one go and then… and then just gives up."

Cora shakes her head. "No. She… She's just too badly hurt. She does keep some magic back for herself. But the knight gets up and sorts out the troll once and for all!"

"But why doesn't–?"

The little girl scowls and gets up from the floor, clapping the non-existent dust from her purple leggings. "I want to play a different game now," she announces. "This one's boring."

* * *

"Do you remember when my uncle Beckett climbed this tree?" Cora Fowl smiled at Pauli, one arm slung around the trunk of the great elm. "He got stuck halfway up and my dad had to fetch a ladder."

"You mean my unclehad to get a ladder," said Pauli, softly, picking his way across the roots. "Your dad couldn't _lift_ a ladder."

Cora frowned. "He's good at _other_ things…"

"_Si_... Just not _lifting_ things."

They looked at each other, and Cora's lips twitched.

"Yes, alright, he's _terrible _at lifting things – but he never needs to do it!"

Pauli nodded. "He's got my Uncle."

"Exactly…"

Cora sighed and slumped down at the base of the tree, her sandals sending up clouds of dust as they scuffed across the earth. She plucked at a dead leaf.

"You know–?"

"No."

The girl scowled at her companion. "Are you going to listen to me?"

"Do I have a choice?"

She thrust out a hand and hit him hard across the shins. He clutched at his leg, grimacing in pain... and then stopped faking.

"_Si_, I'm listening."

"Good. You know I'm actually glad you came to stay?"

Pauli sat down carefully in the grass, folding his stringy legs.

"I thought I was going to be stuck with dad again on one of his 'educational excursions'." Cora pulled a face and looked at the leaf in her hands. "I mean… I _like_ some of the places... Rome was cool." She tossed the leaf away. "But this is better."

Pauli smiled from beneath his hair. The July winds were teasing through it, jostling the caramel curls that had darkened in the three years since he'd last seen Fowl manor. Wild but soft: his father and mother would always ruffle them as they passed each other in their home… but he knew he'd have to lose them soon. He was a Garcia-butler, but a Butler none-the-less; and training began at ten years old. His mother had been reluctant to sign the papers at first, to let him go and suffer through the same semi-ordeal as she had, but Pauli had spent time with his uncle and his many, distant Butler cousins. He _wanted _to go to Madam Ko: to learn how to fight, how to protect. It was in his blood.

When he looked up, Cora had stood from the ground and was already halfway up the trunk of the elm.

"Cora!" he cried, his heart rate rocketing.

"Calm down," she replied, in deeply condescending tones. "I've climbed this thing a thousand times."

He got up quickly, his fingers bunching into fists. "Cora, the bark's wet. You could–"

"Pauli." She took another step up, rose another metre. "I am neither my uncle _nor_ my father. I can handle this _tree_–"

And then her sandal slipped. She gave a short, surprised gasp, her hand clutching on thin air… and fell.

For Pauli, the moment played in slow motion. Her back was sinking, heading straight towards the earth. That would hit the ground first, she'd be winded, bruised, her head would ricochet back against the ground …

Pauli saw his only available option – and took it.

The wind was thrown from Cora's lungs. She had hit something hard, but it wasn't as hard as she had expected. The earth ran sideways and then tilted. There was a crack. Her cheek smacked hard against the earth and she rolled, something hard wrapped around her chest. Her face was throbbing, raw, and she could feel bruises already forming on her hips and her elbows… but that was all.

"Pauli?" she gasped. "Pauli, are you alright?"

The boy gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. He _really _didn't want to cry in front of her, but... _madre dios!_

Cora escaped from his tanned arms, her hazel eyes focused and sharp. "Are you hurt?" she demanded.

He shook his head, tried to move but instead gave a cry of pain. His right knee was _burning. _ThenCora caught sight of the strange kink in his leg.

"Alright," she said, as Pauli sucked in another agonised breath. "It's alright."

"Get… my uncle!" gasped the boy.

"Shhh."

She laid her hands on his leg, one on his thigh, one on his shin.

Pauli was sweating now, shaking. "Cora–!"

"I said _shhh_!"

She took a deep breath and for a moment there was silence. Pauli's whole body was trembling. He had never been in as much pain in his life, he wanted to cry and scream and– _Argh!_ He could see it now; the bump sticking out of his leg. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and tilted his head back. Cora face was hidden, her thick red hair falling like a veil over her eyes.

"Cora," he pleaded weakly.

She didn't move.

"Cora… _por favor._"

And then he felt it; heat beginning to creep up his leg. Not the burning, agonising fire of his broken leg but a comforting warmth, a _tingling_. He looked down. Sparks were trailing from Cora's fingertips, dancing blue bodies, ethereal, wrapping his wounded limb in light. He gasped, stiffened his arms ready to crawl backwards–

"Don't move," ordered Cora.

But it didn't sound like Cora. Cora was a singular, six-year-old girl. The voice Pauli had heard surely belonged to a chamber choir, three hundred strong, warming up in a medieval cathedral somewhere...

His eyes widened as his leg was completely consumed by the glow. There was a deep, _melting_, sensation in his bones… then his limb snapped back straight.

"Ah!" cried Pauli.

"Sorry," sang Cora.

The little boy looked up at her, the light, the symphony in her words, and his eyes finally filled with tears.

A few seconds later and the job was done. Cora's hands remained on his now perfectly functional leg, though Pauli could feel the tremble.

"You…" She swallowed. Pauli realised there was fear in her eyes, real fear. "Are you alright?"

"I… Yes."

"You can't tell anyone," she whispered.

Pauli didn't say anything. Cora took her hands from his leg and grabbed his T-Shirt.

"You can't tell anyone!" she shouted, shaking the material. "You _can't _tell anyone!"

He sat up. "No," he said hoarsely. "No, I–" He coughed, shook his head. "I… Never."

* * *

"Daddy…?"

"A-hmm…?"

Cora padded across the carpet to the window desk, her bare feet silent and soft. She reached a hand up and curled her fingers over the top of the leather chair. It swivelled slightly in her grasp.

Artemis Fowl took off his glasses and smiled at his daughter. "And what merits this visit?"

She shrugged. "Nothing."

"Oh really?" He reached around her waist, turning her back to him before hoisting her into his lap. "Just a social trip then?"

She nodded at her fingers, her elbows resting on the long forearms now wrapped about her stomach. "What are you working on?"

There was a large blueprint spread across the desk, smothered with pencil scratchings and neat, diagrammatic alterations.

"What do you think?"

His daughter's eyes narrowed. "I'd say a solar-diffuser, but then why the pistons?"

Artemis smiled. "Why indeed?"

Cora shot him a shrewd look before tossing a hand in the direction of the paper. Sparks scattered from her fingertips, picking up each pencil component print and swelling them from their former 2D size. Artemis's machine was built in mid-air, his little girl assembling each piece with simple nods and flicks of her eyes. Soon, it floated back to the desk; an engine in miniature. A sun beam hit squarely to its overlarge solar panel and the pistons and flywheels began to turn. Artemis leant forward. The machine trundled across the wood of the desk, swiftly picking up momentum. As it shot off the edge, he caught it one handed, and the engine burst into golden dust.

"Needs less resistance," he murmured, light winking about his fingertips.

Cora's hands tightened on his other arm.

"When will I see Mummy again?"

Artemis stilled.

"Soon," he said softly, "soon."

"_How _soon?"

He sighed and took off his glasses, folded them neatly into a case on the desk.

"You know Mummy's busy…"

"She's always busy!" shouted Cora, and the mullioned windows actually began to tremor. "Always! She's obviously making time for other things, so why can't she make time for _me_?"

Artemis watched a gel-sack paper-weight ripple atop his blueprints. The floorboards began to vibrate beneath his chair and Cora's body heated up in his arms. There were heavy footsteps outside.

"Artemis!"

The little girl's head whipped around. She dropped from her father's lap and sprinted towards the door, just in time to collide with the stampeding bodyguard. Butler caught her at his knees.

_What's happened? _He asked with his eyes as the little girl hugged him hard.

Artemis turned back to his work. _Holly happened. Again._

* * *

**Only little, but yeah...**

**Reviews are always appreciated :)**


	11. In Another Time (a one shot)

**This is considerably longer than my usual dribbles - more like a splurge than a dribble... but RA is being a bitch so... Oh de well. And it's Winter again! So this is one to put your slippers on for and get cosy!**

**Hopefully enjoy :)**

* * *

In Another Time (a one shot)

"And how does the jury find the accused?"

The bespectacled gnome sniffed and stood a little straighter. "Guilty, your honour, on all three accounts."

Artemis closed his eyes.

A wave of murmurs and mutterings broke out immediately amongst the crowd seated above.

"_You can't do this!"_ yelled a voice from the gallery. "_You can't do this!"_

"Silence!" bellowed the sprite, thumping his gavel repeatedly against the block. "Silence in my court!"

"This is _wrong_," insisted the shouter as she was yanked down into her seat. "You've got it all _wrong!_"

"Artemis Fowl the Second," bellowed the sprite above the clamour, "you have hereby been found guilty of all three accounts of mass homicide. On the basis of this judgement I have no choice but to sentence you to the maximum term of eight hundred years imprisonment. May the gods have mercy on your soul."

And the gavel was brought down for a final time.

"Artemis!" screamed the elf. "_Artemis!_"

But the human did not look up as his arms were seized roughly by the guards at his sides and he was dragged down from the dock.

* * *

Holly fought her way by with her elbows and fists. Foaly followed her, wincing and mouthing apologies to the disgruntled guards.

"You've got five minutes," grunted one, clicking his key card into the door release.

"Holly," breathed Artemis as the elf burst into his cell.

"No way," she spat, her eyes blazing. "No way is this happening."

"Holly–"

"They should be given you a _medal_, not a _death sentence._"

"Hello, Mud Boy," said Foaly warily, closing the door behind him. "How are you?"

The eighteen-year-old smiled wanly. "I've been better."

Holly was not amused. She started forward, whether to punch him or embrace him it wasn't exactly sure, when the invisible force which divided Artemis's side of the room from hers flared purple. She cried out and slammed her fists against it.

"Don't," said Artemis, holding up his own hand. "Holly, don't, you'll only hurt yourself."

"I should be hurting you!" she half screamed. "How _dare _you let this happen to you?"

Artemis frowned, clearly pained, and Foaly trotted forward.

"Your family are all above ground now, Artemis. Including Butler. And I did the mind wipes personally so… so they are certain not to remember you. Not if all my team has swept the house properly anyway, and they doubtless will have."

Holly's jaw dropped. "_What?_" She rounded on the human. "You've wiped your own _family_?"

Artemis met her gaze. "I have been sentenced to eight hundred years imprisonment, Holly. I shall never see them again. What would be the point of letting them share in that pain?"

She beat her hand against the divide again. "No! _No! _You are _not _just accepting this! You can't just _give up!_" And then she realised. "You knew hours ago." Her arms dropped. "You knew you'd be found guilty. You've known all along. If your family are on the surface now then they must have been wiped _days_ ago."

Artemis nodded. "I said all my goodbyes in the shuttle from Atlantis."

Holly's mouth gaped.

The door slid open.

"Time," grunted the security elf.

Foaly rounded on her. "Just two more minutes for pity's sake–"

"Rules is rules, Mister. We got to take the human down."

Holly's palms flattened themselves against the divider.

"I'll get you out," she promised. "Artemis, I mean it. I'll get you out of here."

Artemis raised a single palm up to hers, and then the guards dragged her backwards. She fought tooth and nail, Foaly braying, the teenager staring after her.

"In another time!" he yelled. "I'll see you again, Holly! I will!"

The cell door slammed shut.

* * *

The weeks passed slowly. Holly attended council meetings, lobbied newspapers and media stations. She even tried a spot of public protest. Nothing worked. And she couldn't get to sleep at night for the nightmare image of Artemis, alone and stripped of all comfort, stuck in some dark depression of a cell fifty miles below her.

_Dear Holly,_

His last email to her read.

_Please do not worry about me. I am fine. More than fine in fact. I have suddenly found all responsibility and autonomy to be stripped out of my life and truly I am relishing their absence! I read what books they allow me, write only on the machines they provide for my use. I am undisturbed by calls to save the world, pages from my multiple, useless stock agents, emails from Mulch about the size of his latest excretion. My guards decide what I eat, when I eat, in what I dress – you would not believe what a relief it is to have no choice in what to wear: it saves so much time in the morning! My hair has even been cut according to their ideals of fashion. It requires no need for styling now, short as it is. Complete bliss!_

_And so you should envy me, Holly, not fret about me. I am settled, established. I am Lord in my cell, the King of my cubicle. And the night time screams of my fellow inmates have long since turned to choral evensongs, lulling me in my slumbers. I doubt I shall ever be able to rest without them now._

_Yours, with a smile, _

_Artemis _

_P.S. I wish I could see your face again._

And so, disturbed by this, the obvious edge of something not such a leap from lunacy in his writing, when she wasn't working for his release she was petitioning for a visiting permit. High security visitations were rare and usually only permitted for the next of kin, but since all of Artemis's kin were unaware of his very existence Holly felt she had a strong case. And so she was beyond anger, beyond _belief_, when, four months after Artemis's incarceration had begun, someone else was granted permission over her.

"Holly," said No.1, wincing. "I really am very sorry."

"Give me your pass," she demanded. "I mean it, No.1. I _need _to see him."

"I'm sorry, Holly, but I can't. It doesn't work that way."

"Then _make it work!_"

Foaly had frowned. "Holly, lay off. It's not his fault. You'll get a pass next time. Frond knows he's not going anywhere…"

But she still couldn't keep the glare from her face as the trainee warlock trotted off with his escort to The Deeps. Because she knew full well that it was really _her_ fault. That after years of flouting regulations and orders, on most occasions when in the company of Artemis Fowl, she of course could never be trusted to visit him. She knew it, and she felt it like a kick in the chest.

And the next day, when the early-morning headlines told her of the not-so-tragic suicide of the People murderer, Artemis Fowl the Second, she knew why No.1 had been allowed to visit instead of her and what he must have helped their friend to do.

* * *

"Holly?"

It was the five week anniversary of Artemis's death.

"Holly? Buzz me in would you?"

She grunted something from inside the cocoon of her duvet and the door slid aside.

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Frond, Holly, this place is uninhabitable."

The elf just grunted again. Foaly picked his way across a sea of discarded clothes and take away cartons to reach the futon at the centre.

"I've got something for you."

"What?"

"You'll have to sit up to get it."

She buried her face in the musty pillow.

"Holly, seriously. You'll want to have this."

The elf didn't move and the centaur sighed.

"Alright, have it your own way. But I'll leave it there for you. Look at it when you've got a grip of yourself. And I've put No.1's new home contact details in with it too – I've a feeling you'll want to call him when you're done. Maybe apologise."

She heard him wade his way back across the room and seal the door behind him.

A short while later she sat up, her overgrown hair all stuck up on one side, sleep sticking in the corners of her eyes. She rubbed at them with a knuckle before reaching for the package Foaly had left on the only free space on her coffee table. It was a Mud Man envelope, paper, with a handwritten inscription. Her heart recognised the writing before her brain had even had a chance to tell it was English and immediately began to attempt to leap out of her chest. She ripped it open.

It was an old piece of parchment, faded, written in scratchy ink.

_Dearest Holly, _

It read:

_First, I must apologise for the guise which you have necessarily been labouring under in order that I could live to freely pen you this first letter. I know that No.1 must have agonised these past few weeks in deceiving you and for that I am truly sorry. Believe me when I say that it was for the greater good because, as I am sure you must by now have realised, I am now neither imprisoned nor dead. I am, as I promised you, in another time. I shall not tell you the exact period but needless to say a safe few centuries have now been placed between myself and those who would otherwise seek to keep me in that unendurable segment of Hell. No.1 assisted my 'suicide' so that I may live the rest of my life outside of the confines of The Deeps, through the use of a clone that will by now have turned into so much magic dust if it hasn't already been given to the recycling chamber. Please forgive him. He lied to you under my orders and thus deserves no scorn. I shall, of course, not ask you to forgive me – it is a request I have had to make far too often of you and I am sure you have grown weary of it._

_Yours, still and always, _

_Artemis Fowl the Second_

_P.S. Would you please forgive me?_

Holly was gripping the paper so hard it was in danger of ripping. She read the letter twice, three times, five times, the words blurring into one, impassable, blur. Then she snatched up her communicator.

"Hello?" she croaked, as a voice answered on the second trill. "No.1?"

* * *

Three months passed before she received the second letter. It was left in her apartment pigeon hole, once more in human packaging. She opened it in such haste that she actually tore the contents in half and was forced to tape them, clumsily, back together before she could read them.

_Dearest Holly, _

_Greetings from the past! It has been seven months since I wrote you last and I now find myself in quite different circumstances from the ones I first found myself in then. I did not get off to the best of starts, Holly, I shall not lie to you. More than once my mind drifted back to the cell I considered so impossible a place to spend the rest of my days and almost pined to see it again. No.1 was so kind as to increase my physical age before I made the leap into the time tunnel and without access to a bathroom or a razor I quickly became quite the passable beggar. The me I became when we journeyed eight years into the past was a veritable princeling compared to the man you would have observed then and I found myself soon arrested and locked in another cell for vagrancy, perhaps a few circles deeper in Hell than I had been in The Deeps. But I escaped, not quite intact, but alive. And of course I live to write to you again. _

_I have since taken up work with a union of witch hunters, you may be amused to know. It is a temporary thing, a necessity in order to keep a roof over my head. I write up their accounts, answer the letters of certain organisations and villages who call for their services and in return I am fed and thoroughly watered. It is drudge work and the men themselves disgust me… but needs must. I travel soon for Ireland, however, and there I hope to get in with a better crowd. I realise already that I shall not make it very far in this new, brutal world alone. I do so wish you were here to face it with me. _

_Yours, forever and always, _

_Artemis (AKA. Tomas the witch clerk)_

_P.S. Please keep an eye on Butler for me – he has appeared often in my mind of late._

* * *

Holly used her Major's card to override the first door of Foaly's sanctum and simply beat on the second until it opened.

"Alright, alright!" shouted her friend as the panels slid apart. "Keep your knickers on! Frond..."

The elf strode past him into the room just as he shifted his tech-goggles to the top of his head. There were wide, tanned rings around his eyes.

"Where are the letters coming from?"

"What?"

"Artemis's letters." Holly slapped the two envelopes down on a bench. "Who's delivering them?"

"Er… well," Foaly scratched his head. "Artemis himself just handed me the first envelope right after he said goodbye to his family. Told me not to open it until January… and then to pass it to you after."

"I had the second letter yesterday. It arrived in the post this time, stuck in with all my ordinary stuff, but I haven't been able to trace the sender."

The centaur picked up the thin, well-thumbed, package.

"Well it's Mud Man posted, that's for sure." He turned it over. "Look at the stamps! Singapore, South Africa, Italy, Kentucky… Frond."

Holly leant forward, her mis-matched eyes fixed intently to his grey ones.

"So how did it get down _here?_"

Foaly sighed and tossed the envelope down.

"I really don't have time to care, Holly. And anyway, _don't look a horse in its mouth to see its teeth as presents_ or however that Mud Man saying goes. Artemis clearly has it sorted. Besides, when have we ever been able to get to the bottom of his plans until his last hand has been played?"

Holly frowned and Foaly quickly buried his head back inside his newest, complex contraption.

* * *

The third letter almost brought Holly to tears.

It had come after an emotional day anyway, with poor No.1 coming under yet more strain. She had argued with him for over an hour, wanting to be sent to Artemis, wherever it was that he was. But the little warlock had had to shake his head. He had sealed Artemis's way in the time tunnel as an extra precaution against any future forces who would want to find the teenager. It was impossible to reach him now without being consumed by quantum zombies the size of African elephants.

Holly had arrived home dejected and bitter. And found the third letter waiting on her coffee table.

_Dearest Holly,_

_My luck has finally begun to change. I write to you now almost two years to the day that I arrived in this God-forsaken period and finally my fortunes seem to be on the rise. I have found work for a Lord. You may have heard of the family – old Irish stock, not altogether orthodox in their dealings. Well, at any rate, it is a much better post than I held with the witch hunters who have since been exposed as the gang of murderous, anti-female half-wits they truly are! (And not without a little home-brewed justice might I add.) I am a clerk once more, but of a higher status, dealing with the smaller accounts of the manor. _

_It is strange to walk halls that are at once both so familiar and yet so alien. My distant forefathers are unpleasant company, it is undeniable, and yet I still find a certain comfort in their proximity, however distant our relationship may be. Perhaps it is unwise of me to be here, and to tell you of my being here, however… an eternity is a long time to stay away from one's own family and I felt the need to tell you that I had at least, at last, found some approbation of home. I am happy to live in it, if only as a servant, and could not begin to think of a more appropriate master. And on reading that statement, I think you should begin not to know me. I quite begin not to know myself._

_Yours,_

_Artemis Fowl_

* * *

And so the years passed in work and letters. Holly's heart leapt whenever she came home to find one of those brown, mystery envelopes lying inside the door and despite promotion and increases in pay she kept to living in her old apartment, fearful that a change of address would mean she would lose them.

The time between each one-way correspondence gradually lengthened and soon Holly was only being updated of Artemis's new life once a year. The time between his writings also varied, as did the material they were written on: mostly parchment, sometimes roughened cloth, once on beaten silk. The human was travelling, moving to as of yet uncharted continents as he followed his new, ancestral masters and mistresses on their business. He was enjoying it, from what Holly could tell. She would attempt to picture his face as she read his words but it was a shifting image, lost between the boy she had once known so well and the man she knew he must have by now grown to be.

It was a surprise, therefore, when instead of the seventh letter she had been expecting, Holly found an email waiting inside the old, still protected programme she and Artemis had used long ago in the time after their return from Hybras. The service had lain dormant for years and yet there it was, glowing a faint green in the left-hand side of her helmet panel.

_Dearest Holly, _

_I know that this is short notice, but if you could make yourself present at my home on Tuesday 4__th __at approximately 10:45pm, I would be much obliged. _

_Yours, as ever, _

_Arty_

_P.S. I shall ask you in advance to forgive me. _

And so Holly had made herself present on Tuesday 4th at 10:45pm and found herself face to face with an anachronistically dressed, veritable beanstalk of a man, his long, dark hair pulled back and tied neatly away from a young, yet cruelly scarred face. He was smiling when he saw her, the edges of his lips pulling at the white, criss-cross marks across his cheeks, but was soon crying out in protest and pain as the elf's fists slammed again and again into his stomach and legs. After a brief moment of struggle he managed to get a grip on her wrists and pull them about his shoulders. And then they were knelt on the rug, shaking and clutching each other for dear life.

* * *

But of course he had to go back again. His visit had been temporary and he had not had much time to explain the exact physics of the arrangement before he was once more whisked away from her. The LEP had come investigating soon after, curious of the high spike in magic levels about the manor. Holly had dully explained that she had healed an aged Butler from a fatal wound, and combined with the residual magic already known to be drifting about the manor, this served as a believable enough explanation.

_Dearest Holly,_

Read the elf through stinging eyes, upon finding a fresh letter on her return to her flat,

_I believe that you have just returned from seeing me, strong and young, back in the place where we first began to become acquainted. (If time has passed enough that I can use so light a euphemism without causing offence.) For me that visit was eleven years ago, but I can remember it as clearly now as I can our first meeting, our second, third, fourth... I still dream of chemical trains and blood-stained gorilla cages, Holly, and I believe I always shall. Our every moment together is tattooed eternally on my mind, ingrained as deeply as the scars you had the depth of kindness and compassion not to let disgust you in those stolen hours, though I know, indeed, how much of a monster I am now to behold. _

_Butler shall die tonight, Holly. He shall pass peacefully, deep in his slumber, and I made that visit to your time in order that I would be present for one, last goodbye. I always knew that the mind wipe would not work on him; our ties have always been too strong for such things. And so I needed to show him, at the end, that I truly was happy and well. I know you have told him of the letters, that he always knew that I was always alive at least but… I felt our bond deserved more than that. And so I saw him, using the last, emergency reserves that No.1 had granted me long ago, and shall consequently not be able to return to your timeline for a very long time. Do not misunderstand me, I also visited for your sake, of course, but it was for Butler that that last visit was meant. Our time shall come._

_Yours, in another time, _

_Artemis Fowl_

_P.S. I never had a chance to say to you, but I did so love what you had done with your hair._

* * *

Centuries passed. Holly aged in decades whilst Artemis aged in months, sometimes only days. She laughed and cried her way through the letters, sometimes barely memos, at other times veritable essays on life and living, people, animals, philosophy, food. He would rant about unserious matters and she would cackle as the voice of that surly twelve-year-old would travel to her from across the temporal divide ever lecturing, ever correct. Where he got the writing supplies from, she would never know – did not want to know – when he was always telling her of how jealous his masters were of their stores. But Artemis was a criminal, he had always been one, and for not the first time she was glad and happy for it.

The world moved on, humanity moved on, and the People's tenuous concealment was becoming a greater and more difficult mission with every passing day. Holly worked overtime, triple overtime, sometimes collapsing into her flat after seventy-two hours straight. And she could feel the strain. She was no spring octogenarian any more: she was past middle age, she was older than Vinyaya was when she had passed, that lifetime ago in Iceland...

_Dearest Holly, _

_It is my forty-fifth birthday today. Can you believe that? I am forty-five years of age. It is horrifying. I ache as if I was a growing boy again and my eyesight has become so shoddy that I shall soon be forced to find my way about on my hands and knees! I shall have to fashion myself some spectacles soon or else die in some discreditable way involving me mistakenly taking a bullock for my horse … But I digress. _

_I hope you are well, Holly, and are not working yourself too hard. I can only imagine the strain you will now be under with all the advancements in technology that my species has undoubtedly made. I am sure Foaly will be back in his old tin hats and Mulch will still be eating chicken, unconcerned. That is all as I imagine it anyway. _

_But I suppose I have procrastinated enough. Holly, I have news, which I hope does not cause you any undue pain. I have married. Her name is Afa and I love her very dearly. I never thought such an event would occur, not whilst I, for so many years, have felt like a foreign trespasser in these times. I have always thought the people here also to be invariably simple and unenlightened. That is not the case. You would like Afa, I should think. She is clever, more intelligent than I in many ways, and has made my life here more comfortable and more home-like than I would have dared to have ever wished for. Not since the day I was first thrown from the time stream into that London alleyway, before I was struck by my reality, sickened with dread and regret, have I felt such a sense of rightness in my being here. I have fooled myself for years; a man trapped since birth in the darkness believing a matchstick to be his sun. She has opened my skies. And I love her, Holly. And I hope, with all my heart, that if it were possible for you to send me a reply that you would write to me to tell me tales of your own current and similar happiness. _

_Yours, as ever, _

_Artemis_

_P.S. Dear God, let it not be Trouble._

* * *

And so Holly read of his children, of their lives, their trials and tribulations. She read of his pain when they hurt themselves, of his mirth when they occasionally did or said something… modern. They are forward thinking and Holly wonders why he is still constantly surprised.

_Dearest Holly, _

_Today I became a grandfather. Angeline has given birth to a healthy baby boy, much in spite of the efforts of the local midwife who wanted to deal with the breech birth by waving a variety of moon-picked grasses at my daughter's vagina. Thankfully I was on hand to help, though I doubt any of the women present will ever get over the shock of having a male, let alone their master of the coin, active in the birthing room. But mother and sob are both well and alive, and that is what matters. She has named the baby after me. Or so she believes. It does not matter unduly as the name I adopted forty years ago was the name of another close family member she shall just never live to know and so it is still, in my eyes, a highly appropriate choice._

_But I am old now, Holly. The winters grow ever harder and my life has been more of a strain here that it ever would have been if I had remained Artemis Fowl the Second and lived my days out as lord of this manor instead of one of its many retainers. Sometimes I think of that day in court (as I imagine, perhaps falsely, that you do also) and wish that I had perhaps thought harder, found some way to stay free in my own time… But of course it would have been a futile effort. I was destined for this life, Holly, and now, having seen the baby Domovic, well… I do not so much regret it. _

_Yours, in a truly distant time, _

_Artemis_

_P.S. Isn't age such a melancholy thing?_

* * *

The last letter arrived on the day Holly knew she was going to die. It was a sense in her bones, some deep magic that allowed her both to feel and not to fear the knowledge of death, just to accept it, know it was her time to go. And so she still managed to hobble her way to the door when it was opened, using the pneumatic struts which had long since been attached to her legs to aid her movement.

The elf at the door was fresh-faced and smiling, not a day over eighty years old.

"Ms Short?" he inquired. "I have a letter here for you, ma'am. And after you've read it, if you consent, I am here to escort you to the surface."

If Holly was surprised, she didn't show it. Her dried and wrinkled hands only quivered as they always did as she took the outstretched paper. She unravelled it with years of practiced ease and with her last sparks of magic began to translate the letters on the page.

_Dearest Holly,_

_This is my final letter. I know I shall die soon and so shall you. Our times, at long last, have come to a matching point. _

_Trust the fellow in front of you, Holly, he has been centuries in the planning. And please, grab your helmet and neutrino one last time and head towards the surface. Our last adventure awaits._

_Yours, eternally, _

_Artemis Fowl. _

Holly took the arm that was offered to her by the still-smiling young elf and left her flat and the last letter behind.

* * *

"We're nearly there," he murmured. "Nearly there."

Holly's feet shuffled through the grass, her hand still looped about his strong forearm. He had done a good job of guiding her from the shuttle, across the low land grounds of the manor which were still so familiar to her, changed as they were by the tests of time. He was dark haired and paler than usual for an elf, a little taller too. And Holly couldn't throw the feeling that she'd somehow met him before…

Soon she spied another strange figure stood ahead of them through the trees. It was a human, straight backed and blonde, with clear blue eyes and an open, easy smile.

"Ms Short," said the young man, his bright eyes crinkling. "I am so glad you could come."

"Are you?" she croaked. "I'm not quite so sure myself yet."

The human laughed and nodded at the elf Holly was using for support.

"It's alright, Beck, I can take over from here."

"Right you are. Goodbye, Ms Short."

Holly watched the mystery elf leave and allowed this new comer to guide her to a pair of chairs, set low in the grass a short distance away. She sank into one with a sigh.

"I'm Jules, by the way," said the man, crouching down so he could be at her height. "Jules Fowl. I am Artemis's great, great, great, great… well, a lot of greats anyway, nephew."

"Oh," said Holly, who could feel herself growing overwhelming weary. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jules. I once knew a Butler called Jules."

"Yes, she was my great, great… well, I won't get into that again. Artemis's third brother, he never met him, married her daughter and they started the line my father eventually became a descendant of."

Holly nodded. She had stopped keeping a track of things once Butler had died.

"And so why am I here today, Jules?" she rasped. "If you're looking to repeat a little family history, I should tell you that I won't fetch much of a ransom nowadays."

Jules laughed. "No! No, nothing like that. I'm here to tell you where the letters came from."

Holly was immediately jerked to attention. "What?"

"I have images… Some are only 2D, obviously primitive, but they'll do the job."

He handed her a small photograph from a folder he had slipped onto the grass and Holly took it.

It was a colour printout of a darkened room, whether an attic or a basement Holly couldn't tell, but she could see the dozen chests piled about it, a few of them opened to reveal the yellowing contents within.

"The letters," she croaked. "All of them."

Jules tapped the image in her hand. "That's the first photo we have. It was taken by Artemis almost fourteen hundred years ago and dated..."

Holly turned it over. "A week before the incident."

She closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed.

Their last adventure had been their worst. A maniac gnome had stepped up to fill Opal's murderous, Hell-bent-on-world-domination shoes, eager to take advantage of the damage that the Techno Crash had done to the human world. A million, innocent people had died in the first wave of bio bombs. Fairy systems were revealed to the few, reeling human organisations that would have a chance of doing anything about them, and chaos had accordingly ensued. Artemis, Holly, Butler, Mulch, No.1 and Foaly had of course spent the next few days battling to bring the situation under control and stop this new villain from committing any more atrocities. But on the final day, desperate and fearful of another mass attack on humanity, Artemis had made the decision to launch three bio bombs into Haven city itself, into the three locations which he believed could be the only places that their enemy could be holed up. Many fairy lives were lost, including that of the malignant gnome, but ultimately twenty million more human lives were saved.

And Artemis had been sentenced three days later.

"He read them," whispered Holly. "He found them before the attacks started."

Jules nodded. "We believe so. And that's… that's why he did not fight the verdict, why he chose for the demon send him back instead. His fate had already been decided. The room is well hidden in the manor, it would have been easy enough for him to visit in the past and stockpile his letters. In his 'present', he left us, his family, instructions–"

"His family were mind wiped."

"Not all."

"Yes, they– Oh my Gods. Butler."

"Who then told his niece, who told her sons, daughters, their children until…"

"You."

"I have made sure the last four have reached you. Beckett has been watching you for longer, putting them under your door, and his mother before him."

"But he's an _elf–"_

"Myles, Artemis's brother's kin."

This was too much. Holly's fists clenched in her lap. Jules showed her another photograph of the room of letters. One trunk was now a quarter emptied.

"Myles took this photograph when he found the room in his twenties. And when confronted, Butler told him the truth of it. But he didn't believe him for a long time, didn't want to think about the possibility of a forgotten brother, of fairies, and then he went to a ritual site and conducted his own stakeout…"

Holly felt tears well in her eyes.

Jules spoke softly. "I know it's a lot to take in."

"Why," she croaked, "why did he keep this all from me?"

"Because I made a mistake."

Holly looked up. There, leaning heavily against a gnarled walking stick, was an old man, white-haired and deeply wrinkled.

Jules stood to his full height. "Grandfa–"

"Go," ordered the old man. "Go and tell the family that it's finished. You have done well."

Jules hesitated, glanced once at Holly, before turning tail and walking swiftly away through the greenery. The old man watched him out of sight.

"Another mistake?" croaked Holly from the chair. "Surely you can't have many left to make now, Artemis."

The old man hobbled forward.

"I am a genius, Holly. Our mistakes tend to be rather more pioneering than the average."

He settled himself, slowly, into the chair besides her. She looked at him, taking in the scars now camouflaged amongst the deep lines of wrinkles, the bright irises peering from beneath a now weighted brow. For a moment they simply looked at each other, dusk descending around them.

"So you had read them all before."

"Yes."

"And you memorised them."

"No." He tipped his wrinkled face to petulantly peer into hers. "No, I wrote every word because I meant them. They were candid, honest. More earnest than I had ever believed I could bring myself to be."

Holly raised an eyebrow. "Well that's me told."

The sun was sinking, staining the sky a sombre shade of pink. After a while Artemis reached out a trembling hand and clasped it about Holly's, which had so far remained limp on her arm rest. He smiled at her and after a brief, hard stare, broke into a laugh.

"Well," he croaked. "Here we are!"

She pretended to look bemused. "In a wood?"

"In another time! Fourteen hundred years since we first met… Dear me."

"You're not going to try and kidnap me again are you?" she asked, with a hint of the smirk of her youth, "I've already warned your grandson–"

"Oh no. Don't have the energy or the Butler for it now. It is much too late for all that nonsense."

"Nonsense?"

"Well, what's the point? I should only get myself saddled with a person for another fourteen hundred years. I'm afraid that I simply haven't got that sort of time to bandy about any more."

Holly gave a croak of disbelief. "They were _my _fourteen hundred years, Artemis! You only had to do, what? _Ninety_? That's nothing! I'd done almost that many by the time I'd met _you."_

"A lifetime is a lifetime, Holly. It is all proportionate…"

Holly was glaring at him. And then she realised that she was glaring at him, and that he was looking back at her with the same smug yet self-satisfied-and-mildly-amused expression that he had always worn as a boy. And it was her turn to burst out laughing. He chuckled and squeezed her hand again.

Crickets had begun to sing somewhere in the fields beyond. Holly listened for a moment, before a young, long-forgotten memory knocked her head back into the chair a little.

"Oh _Gods_."

He gave her a wry glance. "Sentient insect flashbacks?"

"That was such a horrible day."

"We–" He had broken into a coughing fit, half mirth, half from the cancer creeping over his lungs. "We were always prone to having them. Yes, indeed." He patted her hand, then his chest and smiled. "Grass and citrus. That was your smell, Holly."

"What?" The elf was sinking in her chair, feeling heavier by the second. "Was… was that my soap or something?"

"No. No. That is not what I meant…"

The sun sank a little lower below the horizon, the lanterns shining that little bit brighter.

"You were always my mechanic, Holly." He chuckled. "_I was a broken boy and you fixed me._ My, my. And _I couldn't do without you._ We have both said it. Separately, but we have said it. I don't believe it ever really had to be said though. We both knew. Know. Perhaps? Holly?" He looked across at the chair that held his oldest friend. "Are you going, my dear?"

"Hmm," she murmured, her eyes closed.

"Well," he settled back, allowing his head to flop against the head rest just as hers was and squeezed her hand again. "I suppose I always have talked too much... You won't mind if I join you, Holly? We can always carry on this discussion later." He closed his eyes just as the sun finally sank beneath the horizon. "In... in another time perhaps."

* * *

**Well - from eighteen to death in a brain dribble, there we are. **

**What did you guys think?**


	12. Life As I See It

** This is how I imagined Artemis's short-lived time as a spirit.**

**Hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

Life As I See It

And so death slipped my body from me like an old coat finally, lovingly discarded.

"_Artemis! Artemis!"_

It does not answer.

"_Artemis!"_

I dip to catch it but the evening snatches me first, grips my arms like a mother restraining her child. She is warm, tries to hush me and wraps her night about me like a new skin. I struggle, open eyes of flower-buds, bird-song, curl oak-branch fingers and stretch toes of dampened bracken. My mouth parts lips of stone and mildewed ruin and screams in the dawn.

"_We should take him to the house."_

My head shifts, creaks, and I snap back into one. One leap and I have closed my arms about him. My evening skin is shrinking to mist, to bead on his jacket, in the hair of my corpse. I look down at it and shriek. I did not want this. _I did not want this_.

It is later and we are alone. The elf has flown. I bore her wings on the flats of my feet and her engines nicked my tendons, cut nerves of fog and blustered insect. I gritted teeth of brick and weed and kicked her high, away.

"_God,"_ mutters Butler.

He has my attention. I am the callouses, the cuts in his palms. He sighs into them and I am his breath.

"_The world wasn't worth it." _

My body on the table is quiet. The head is turned, faced away to the wall, its tongue dried inside a mouth carved of cold and silence. I approach it warily… And suddenly it sits up, screams at me.

"_NO!_"

I rear back in shock, become the paper, the pictures on the wall.

"_Do you hear me?"_ Butler is standing, screaming. I am the plaster, the copper pipes beneath. "_It wasn't worth it!"_

* * *

Weeks pass. I am the seconds it takes, the fading arras, the bearding stubble, wounds that attempt to scab but cannot for ever-picking fingers. I can hardly swallow for dust.

In time I leave the weighted house. I smack the stratosphere, bust clouds with my bare hands and plummet with new, sharper rains. I rip the air with the wings of swallows. I cry. I crow. I strip the trees of leaves and autumn comes.

"_Butler?"_

"_Mrs Fowl._"

She is wearing the dress that is tailored from my heart muscles. When she walks they move, stretch, sway.

"_Would you sit a moment?"_

"_I'm half way through a session, Mrs Fowl._"

"_Yes, I can see that, but I feel it's important._"

The dress stills, waits.

"_What do you want to say?_"

"_It's been three months, Butler."_

"_Yes, Mrs Fowl._"

"_You need… Juliet and I… You have not begun to grieve, Butler."_

His eyes are my eyes. They hang, pierce.

"_No, Mrs Fowl._"

"_It is not healthy, Butler." _She, who has lost me twice, is better at this._ "If you… if you wish to talk about… about him–"_

I take the hit. I am suddenly the stuffing, the nylon sleeve, the sand.

"_Butler_–"

Again.

"_Butler–!"_

I am his fingers, the bandages that speckle crimson. I am the swing, the smack, the pull in his stomach. I am the flash of desire, the brief urge to buckle forwards, to wring my arms around this _stupid, fucking_ piece of gym kit, to fall to my knees, to lie like _he _did, to die like _he _did.

We look up with eyes that hang, pierce. We are still on our feet, still stood tall. My mother, and my heart muscles, have gone.

* * *

And so I sulk in forgotten, slug-munched crocus bulbs; in dimmed green houses, listening to the buzz of heat lamps with ears of glass and filtered moonlight.

"_Artemis..."_

I fall out in sheer shock, burst away along the stem, to the grass, back to the artificial earth. She winds herself about me.

"_If you… if you can hear me..." _

I slip away through the loop of her. She follows, flitting, sweeping.

"_Just know that we're coming for you… We are..."_

I become the feet of shrews, of dormice, patter over mud and hard-trampled weed. But she is the barn owl's swoop and I am caught, lifted suddenly by my writhing fur, my twine-like limbs. The mouse's soul flees. I drop. Its death-light catches me like a remonstrance, a blow of discipline to my burning cheeks, and I plummet, bruised, back to the earth. Rain smarts on the glass of the lake I crash through and I sink down to see her, lying in the silt, smiling as I drift towards her.

"_Just hold on…"_

She reaches up and brushes back my hair of frog-spawn, of muck, of a long-forgotten flak jacket.

"_Just hold on."_

* * *

The snows come and gloss the gardens free of colour. My spine hardens, curves like the ice-bowed trees that stretch sheared, frozen fingers to point accusations at a ground that cracks and sheds its layers like hammered slate. I stay inside, where it is warm, and lie beside the children to blow monsters from their dreams like so many bothersome cobwebs. I replace them with light: with soft, easy bliss.

"_He's so small…"_

I turn my head of cotton playthings, of blankets, security.

"_What? Course he's small! Did you think he just popped out all lanky and big-headed? He's got a lot of growing to do yet…"_

"_How much growing…?"_

"_Probably about three months more…"_

"_Can't you speed it up...?"_

"_Not without risks…"_

"_Then we should just take him up now. As he is…"_

"_As an infant? No. His body needs to be as close to Artemis's normal age as possible otherwise the soul may not recognise it and reject it…"_

"_How could you possibly know that? It's stupid to hold on this long! He could fade any moment…"_

"_Holly, believe me. It's the slow way or no way…"_

My existence is the 'Way'. The humans, the animals, the plants, they have their own 'Way'. From observing the human 'Way' for such a time I have come to realise that I could never have been one of them. Nature agrees with me, is amused that I could ever have thought anything otherwise. I am wind, frog-croak and bracken, wiry heath-path, fletches of fern, the heart of the briar that the brook treads through. I am the filament glow, the skin rustle of wool against knee-cap, their sniffs, the way their hands curl, shying, about their mugs in the winter night. She is still my mother, him my father, but I was born in this shape, to taste life and shape it not stamp about it like a child, blindfolded, in this world of God-made wonders.

_I did not ask for this._ But now I am it. This is my 'Way'.

"_I just want him back, Foaly…"_

"_I know. We all do…"_

A rose bush begins to grow.

* * *

The world is disturbed. Sparrows take flight at the twitch of my eyebrow. I climb the nearest yew trunk, become the whispering leaves and breeze-trembling nest.

"_Well, it's about time."_

I clench fingers of bark and berries.

"_Artemis's instruction were not exactly simple to follow. And, typically, they were totally illegal."_

My eyebrows take flight again and I roll back to the ground, land softly amongst the murmur of grass blades. I look out across the meadow where a group of figures are making their way slowly, laboriously towards me. I feel the insects clutch the weeds at their foot shakes, the moles beneath them look up with blind and fearful eyes. The big one speaks and the air about me trembles.

"_Are you saying that Artemis is a ghost?"_

My hair becomes the breeze whip, my harried breath the dawn-light cold. The mist creaks beneath my feet.

"_The Beserkers were ghosts for ten thousand years. That's how the spell worked. If they lasted that long, it's possible that Artemis held on for six months."_

Then something drops like a boulder into the depths of my life's lake. I am crashing, overflowing.

"_Possible? That's all we've got?_"

_I am broken._

"Possible_ is being optimistic. I would say _barely conceivable_ would be a better bet."_

_I am broken. _

"_Yes, well, the _barely conceivable _is Artemis Fowl's speciality."_

Something hurts and I clutch my arm. My arm of flesh and blood and bone. I am in another time, a room, laying a body slowly into cushions. There are drugs in my system and a faint taste of bile in my mouth. I brush my lips together and sound vibrates past my lips.

"_I want you to know, my dear friend, that without you I would not be the person I am today." _

In a meadow, somewhere very far away, a box is being opened. And like a fairy-tale princess, some fair maiden poisoned and awaiting her prince's kiss, there lies a young human with black hair, pale skin and an oxygen mask.

"_I was a broken boy and you fixed me. Thank you."_

My knees buckle. The tendons, muscles, gristle hit earth. I feel grit in my palms and smell metal. The world is ripping around me, hazing in a green, mephitic nimbus. I squint my eyes against the whip of my hair. The edge is near. _I shall make it. I shall make it!_

"_Butler, you must place the bodies in the roses. At the centre of the spiral."_

I sprint, I leap.

"_Without life support we have only minutes before degeneration begins."_

I hit spell. In the same instant I hit panic, despair, anger. I hit karma, I hit life. I close my eyes, my hands clench my trousers, my head bows. I choke. Then I hear the running. My voice cracks out.

"_Stay back! The spell shall kill you!"_

"_These roses. They are a sign."_

"_Butler, stop her!"_

I watch her wrestle in his arms and rise slowly to my feet.

"_Wait. Just wait, Holly, Artemis has a plan."_

Yes, I do. I shift my left foot a little further back from my right. Now, when I fall, my shoes should not bruise his arms.

"_What if this doesn't work, Holly?"_

"_I have a fairy eye – one of yours remember?"_

"_What if I let Artemis die?"_

"_Why Artemis? Why did you do this?"_

Because I am the person you repaired. Because as I stand there, the boy you patched together with words, punches and a single, bloodied kiss, you know this, and I do not need to tell you again. It was all there in my voice, in the way we have been looking at each other lately.

"_Do you remember what I said to you?"_

"_It _will _work!"_

"_I remember. But…"_

I look at you now. And, in panic, my eyes briefly ask you whether it is going to hurt. Your gaze does not answer. It only widens and mine is diverted as death lays her hand gently, finally on my shoulder. I panic, gasp with thorns and bleeding fingers. I become months of prayer, of bitten-back sobs; of hateful thoughts, bitter thoughts, regrets that festered and hung from hearts and shoulders like funeral wreaths. I try to grip the earth but miss. I grasp at its roses but their petals only come free in my hands.

The morning is crying. She grips me in this frenzy of light-spun kaleidoscopes, pushes me down, her hands soft but firm, like I am a tired child she is forcing, finally to bed. She strokes my head and kisses me, breathes life back into me.

Her fingers clasp about mine. And somehow, as the world about me ripens, as birdsong and branch-break stir in my ears, blood, hot and painful, slips around my muscles, my hair wetted by grass-dew and not the other way around–

"_Artemis, please."_

My eyes open.

* * *

**Little bit mental, I know. But I love playing with words. **

**What did you think of it?**


	13. The Drummer Boy

**This story is inspired by the 'true' story of the drummer boy who still haunts the Edinburgh catacombs after being set into the dark over a century ago...**

* * *

The Drummer Boy

November 1651

The rain lashed down on the hoods and shoulders of the mounted party, water sinking through to their skin, chilling them to the bone. Their horses were whickering beneath them, shaking their huge, sodden heads, attempting to turn, to go back. The night was drawing closer. And the storm was only getting worse.

"Father!" called out Aedan Fowl, squinting through the whip of the wind. "We must go back! The way shall only become more treacherous the longer we linger here!"

Lord Aedar glared back at his son. Water was dripping from his leather hood and his hands were red against his reins.

"No!" he bellowed, dark beard spraying water. "The men are still searching! We shall not return without her!"

Aedan scowled.

"I-if w-we d-don't go back s-soon," said a faint voice from below him. "T-the path sh-shall b-be o-overflowing. We'll l-lose h-horses t-to the m-mud."

Aedan glanced down. His footman was shivering violently beneath his woollen cloak, his butterscotch hair plastered flat to his scalp.

"I know _that_," spat Aedan. "Everyone knows it but if father is determined..."

"T-terra's his f-favourite?"

"My mother's favourite, so accordingly his." Aedan sneered. "It is a blasted _dog, _for Heaven's sake!Dogs get _lost_! If it hasn't the intelligence to work its way back out of a hole then it deserves to stay in one."

"M-might h-have more b-brains that us t-to s-seek sh-shelter."

Aedan's frown deepened. "Brandon, you look frozen."

Brandon smiled up through chattering teeth. "W-well observed o-oh sm-smart one."

The Lordling swivelled in his saddle to reach his pack at the back, quickly undoing the buckles and pulling out a spare cloak.

"Here."

He dropped the coat down. Brandon pulled it quickly around his shoulders, yanking up the hood.

"About b-bloody t-time."

"Well if you do insist on coming out in substandard hosiery…"

Brandon shouldered him on the leg and Aedan stifled a grin. Then one of his father's feudal Lords turned around to glare at them and they were back to being Lord and master again. For a moment.

"What is that anyway?" asked Aedan, unable to see where the other men were shouting, their movements obscured by rain and trees. "A cave?"

"Underground g-graveyard," answered Brandon, pulling his cloak close. "Where yer'll g-go one day."

"The crypt? I didn't know it was all the way out here."

"Well ya d-don't want yer bodies st-stinking up around the house d'ya?"

It was Aedan's turn to issue a kick and Brandon's turn to smirk.

"For shame!" roared the lower Lord from earlier, turning to bellow at Aedan. "You have already embarrassed your father once today by your complete lack of success in the hunt! Do not continue to sink his pride lower by making a fool of yourself with the servants!"

Aedan flushed deeply as most of the party swivelled to stare at him. Heat spread to his face and shoulders, branding him. He lowered his head.

"Aedan?" murmured Brandon from the corner of his mouth, the two syllables laden with concern.

There was a stiff pause and then–

"Be silent," snapped the Fowl heir. "You are a servant, do you hear? How _dare _you attempt to speak to me as if we were equals?"

"She won't come, my Lord," said another footman, barely holding back a shudder as he spoke to the mounted Lord Aedar.

"She is a _dog_!" roared Aedar, gripping the reins of his unsettled destrier. "Why are men not down there to fetch her out?"

"I-it is dangerous, m'Lord. The men don't want to follow because–"

"_Want? Want?_"

"Of course, m'Lord. I shall tell them."

The footman turned away, screaming at the group of sodden, wan-faced peasants, their boots already half sunk into the mud around the crypt entrance.

Aedan kicked his horse and trotted forwards. Brandon followed. Wearily.

"We need one volunteer," said the dark-haired heir sharply to his father. "Sending a whole party down there would be of no use, they could end up in a bottle neck." Aedan nodded at the sodden labourers. "And these men are too cold and clumsy. You need someone stronger, more sure-footed."

Brandon closed his eyes.

"My man would do perfectly."

Lord Aedar looked down at the gangly Brandon who immediately stood bone-straight, his eyes grey opening.

"Send him down with one of the hunting drums," continued Aedan. "That way we can track his progress from above ground."

Lord Aedar nodded. "Floren! Your drum!"

Brandon's fists tightened. Aedan swung off his horse in one smooth motion, gripping Brandon's elbow and dragging him forward.

"You are to go down and fetch the dog," he told him, loudly, imperatively, splashing his way through the mud. "Just go slowly and keep one hand on the wall–"

"Wi' a drum in one hand?"

Aedan yanked him around. "Do not speak to me like that."

Brandon's nose twitched with dislike. "If I go in there I won't be coming out."

"What–?"

"It's _haunted, _Aedan."

"_Do not address me so. _And what is this peasant, superstitious nonsense?"

"I swear t' yeh. You send me in there and I won't be coming out."

The two teenagers glared at one another. Aedan felt the hard gaze of his father burning into the back of his head. A horse snorted, the wind slapped at his cloak. Brandon's chest heaved and Aedan frowned.

There was a loud thump beneath them.

"Here."

Aedan accepted the cased bodhrán and pushed it into his friend's hands.

"_Please,_" he hissed lowly, tilting his head so his mouth would be hidden from his father and his men.

Brandon stared at him a moment more before his gaze dropped.

"Alright…" he replied stiffly, almost sadly, "m'Lord."

Aedan watched him turn away and felt a wrench in his stomach. He knew something had broken between them. But that was only proper. He would be a Lord one day, responsible for lands, property and over seven hundred servants, labourers, peasants and soldiers. Would he be able to be friends with Brandon then? Sneak up with him into the barn loft in the dead of night, never sleep but laugh until they cried? Slip him apples, bread, share castle gossip, scoff together at all the pomp, the ridiculousness of it all? No. He wouldn't.

And Brandon didn't even look back as he descended into the dark.

_Doom. Doom. _

The drum beat. Aedan hefted himself back into the saddle of his mare and sat at his father's side.

_Doom. Doom._

The wind was picking up, spitting rain in Aedan's face like an insult.

_Doom. Doom._

"No-one knows how deep the graves go," said his father, pointing a few foot soldiers off in the direction of the beats. "They are said to reach down to the very bowels of hell itself."

_Doom. Doom._

"He'll find her, my Lord. She can't have gone that far," replied Aedan.

_Doom. Doom._

The drums continued for the longest time. Aedan's seat became numb, his fingers frozen around the wet leather of his reins. Then, finally, the beats faded into the distance.

"Where the devil is he?" snapped Lord Aedar.

_Silence_.

Aedan's heart pounded in his head.

_Silence_.

It already knew where the devil Brandon was.

_Silence_.

November 1845

"And then what?" whispered the little girl.

Her big brother grimaced; his face eerie, almost demonic in the reflecting lick of the firelight.

"Not another drumbeat was heard," he whispered. "The soldiers came back, reporting that the drumbeats had ceased, suddenly, about a mile from the crypt entry. Aedan pleaded with his father to send down another man to find his lost friend but Lord Aedar refused. Then the storm grew so terrible that the whole party had to return to the house."

Margaret shifted in the armchair, pulling her long night dress over her feet. "And _then _what?"

"Aedan spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in his bed, his nightmares full of cadavers and drummers until at first light he stole a horse from the stables and rode into the forest, shouting and screaming for Brandon. When he reached the crypt he descended into the dark, crying and calling all the while... but Brandon was never to be found…"

The little girl's eyes were wide and bright. She shrunk a little in her seat, her gaze fixed to her brother's sallow face. He leant in closer.

"Brandon's mother was informed soon after of her son's disappearance and she flew immediately into a wild, grief-stricken rage. She knew, of course, that her son would not have gone into the crypts of his own volition, and she knew that it must have been _Aedan_ who would have forced him into it. She stormed up to the castle, past the guards and directly into the banqueting hall. Then, before the whole assembly, she cursed Lord Aedar and his family–"

"_Our _family?"

"Yes, _our_ family, vowing that we would feel the same pain she had at the loss of her beloved son. That she would take _our _children one day until her vengeance was complete. Lord Aedar had her immediately arrested and sentenced to death–"

"To _death_?"

"By burning, as by cursing our family she had revealed herself to be truly a witch."

"But that's _ridiculous!_"

"I know that, Maggie, and so did Aedan, who then begged his father to spare the woman; he knew that she had Brandon's seven brothers and sisters to care for, and that without her they would never survive the winter."

The eight year old's eyes creased. "But that's _awful._"

"It's _Fowl,_" laughed Henley. "And so the woman burnt anyway, cursing our line with every one of her last, smoke-choked breaths… Now, to bed."

Maggie gave a derisive snort, her expression almost comically adult. "And _how_ do you expect me to sleep after hearing such a tale as that one?"

"Fitfully." Henley reached down and plucked her out of the chair. "Come, or Sister Caitlin shall flay me alive."

And so Margaret was soon tucked into her manor bed.

"Henley...?" she asked dozily.

"A-hmm?"

"What… what was the curse?"

"Well," he said, sitting on the very edge of her blankets. "Brandon's mother demanded a Fowl child to be taken for every child that she had lost."

"But… I'm a Fowl child."

"No, you're lovely."

She punched at him weakly.

"You know," – she yawned widely – "what I am talking about…"

He smirked, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Yes. But lucky for you, you have an elder brother, so if Brandon's ghost should come for any one of us then I should be the one to be taken."

"But _why_?"

"Because I am generous, and would happily sacrifice myself for your cause."

He kissed her swiftly on the forehead and turned down her lamp. It didn't take her long to fall asleep. After all, she was a Fowl. And Fowls never took such childish nonsense seriously.

Henley retired to his own room, his eyes drawn to the claw-like ash branches clattering against his window as he undid the buttons of his waistcoat. He undressed absently before pulling on the nightshirt the valet had left out to warm before the fire. He washed his face in the basin and looked briefly into the looking-glass set above it. He stroked at his chin. A few, dark bristles were starting to sprout there. But he was sixteen now, and that was to be expected. Soon he would be as hairy as his father, with side whiskers the size of shoe brushes. He smirked at that.

And it was just he had pulled back his blankets, bent low over the lamp to blow it out, when he heard the first of the drums_._

November 1967 

"And so Henley became the sixth Fowl to be taken," said Vesta Fowl, matter-of-factly. "Some servants told stories about seeing him being led away by the ghostly light of the previous victim, Noakley Fowl, dead some… eighty years or something, but it was dismissed as nonsense at the time."

The teenager raised an eyebrow, "But _you_ believe it?"

"But of course!" She laughed, pulling playfully at the lapels of his blazer. "I love the idea of our ancestors being stolen away by some vengeful drummer boy. It's so… _gothic_…"

"But aren't you afraid that _you _shall be stolen?"

"Why?" she snapped, her expression suddenly guarded, bitter. "I'm a girl remember? And Brandon's ghost has only ever claimed _boys_."

"You said he claims _first-borns_. And you are the first first-born girl in your family for… six generations? So if taken, you would become the penultimate sacrifice."

"Well remembered, Jacques. How very boring of you…"

She smiled and glanced at his lips. She was already pressed back against the bookcase, his chest inches from hers. He smiled and closed the gap.

"_Vesta!_ _Jacques!_"

The sixteen-year-old banged her head back against the wood.

"Artemis!" she snapped, half pushing the Frenchman away. "What are you doing here?"

The four-year-old scowled.

"Father says you're to dress for dinner. He expects us all downstairs in twenty minutes."

Vesta rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

"I've already _told him _I'm not coming."

"Well, _I'm _telling you!" cried the little Artemis. "You _never _come down anymore! Why don'tyou want to be with us?"

"Because this family is insane," said Vesta flatly, her hands on her hip, "and vindictive. And I do not wish to spend another evening _pretending _that I give a… a flying _toss_ about any of that _Fowl _crap they keep feeding us. It's wrong. And I'm not doing it anymore. Come on, Jacques…"

She reached out for her boyfriend's hand just as the four-year-old's eyes narrowed.

And twenty minutes later, Adolphus Fowl was screaming at his first-born as his second-born rocked in the room next door, his hands clutched over his head. There was a banging noise, a door slammed, a cry.

"_You dare to speak to me so?"_

"Get _off!_"

Artemis watched as his sister was dragged by the arm past his bedroom doorway and thrown into an empty room, full of dusty cabinets and forgotten family portraits.

"You shall stay in here," breathed Adolphus, his chest heaving, "until you have come to your senses. You are _shaming this_ _family_!"

"_I _am shaming us?" screeched Vesta, her dark, cropped hair slipping from her headband. "I'm not the one telling all of our acquaintance that I'm a _slut._"

_Slap. _

There was a terrible silence.

"You shall obey me," repeated Adolphus. "Or you shall live to regret it."

And he locked her in.

Twenty minutes Artemis waited, staring, almost entranced at his sister's door, before scampering to his feet. It didn't take him long to steal the master keys, and when he pulled back the door Vesta was still lying where Adolphus had thrown her, her long, pale legs, stuck out at odd angles.

"Vesta," whispered Artemis. "Vesta, are you awake?"

She didn't answer and the little boy crept closer.

"Vesta–"

"I've got to leave, Timmy."

Her voice was soft, hoarse.

"_No_," cried Artemis. "You can't! You can't leave–"

His sister sat upright and pulled a hand over his mouth.

"_Hush. Hush, _now."

He stilled in the cradle of her arms.

"It'll be alright. The house will be a lot… calmer without me."

Artemis's eyes filled with tears.

"But where will you _go_?"

"With Jacques. His family have property in Vienna and… and I could do with practicing my German."

She held his tiny face in her hands as he started to cry.

"You'll be alright, Timmy. You can visit me when you're older."

"F-Father w-wouldn't–"

"_Ignore_ Father. One day _you'll_ be the man of this house and he'll just be a wrinkled old fart bag, ranting and losing control of his bowel movements in a chair in the corner."

Artemis grimaced. And then his sister's smile faltered. Her hands had frozen against his cheeks.

"Vesta…?"

She didn't respond.

_Doom._

"_Vesta_."

"Do you hear that?" she whispered, her eyes focusing sharply back to his.

Artemis shook his head. "I don't hear anything–"

_Doom. Doom._

She stood up, almost as if she had been yanked. She stared towards the empty doorway.

"So it's true…" she murmured.

The little boy stood too, wiping his face on his sleeve. His sister started to walk towards the hall.

"_No,"_ he hissed, pulling on her skirt. "Vesta, you can't go! You _can't_!"

But she ignored him. It was as if he wasn't even there anymore. She walked forward as if stepping on air; she was drifting, ghosting… She held out her hand.

"_Vesta!_"

She looked back at her brother once, her eyes bright and somehow distant.

"I'm sorry, Timmy, but… but I must. You must let me go."

She took the hand of the light before her.

November 2008 

"Are you warm enough?"

"Yes."

Artemis Senior frowned and scrutinized his eldest son, his sharp, youthful face lit by the glow of his laptop. The teenager was sunk down on a nest of blankets, a woollen hat pulled down tight over his hair and a pair of fingerless gloves yanked over his hands. Artemis Senior was sat opposite him, his own palms cupped around a thermos flask.

"Though I would be warmer still," continued the teenager, not bothering to cease his typing, "if we were to give up on this farce altogether and return to the upper levels."

The Fowl dungeons had not been used in over a generation and were cramped and damp and packed with insect corpses. Butler had had to smash the wooden panels nailed over their entrance with a sledgehammer to uncover the steps and the dark hallways beneath. They had descended with a torch, Artemis grumbling and hugging his computer to his stomach, feeling his skin prickle with every drop in temperature. His father had brought down the blankets and chairs (with a considerable amount of Butler-aid) and picked them out a cell with the least amount of filth. He had settled in a post in the corner, his son settling opposite him, being careful not to bang his hatted head against a rusted, steel pike protruding from the stone work above him. He'd then had Butler secure the iron-belted door with over twenty metres of steel chain and stand guard outside.

"No," said Artemis Senior levelly.

His son looked up. "You could keep me imprisoned and the phantoms out just as easily in a room with proper floors and a clean air-flow."

"Not in one to which you do not already know the exit codes. At least here, you are rendered physically powerless."

Artemis closed the lid of his laptop.

"Why are we doing this?" he asked in a hushed whisper. "You cannot honestly believe…? I know my Aunt's disappearance was traumatic for you but… but she was not taken by a _ghost, _Father. You cannot… truly believe that. There were other factors. You yourself said she had wanted to run away. Her diaries revealed that she suspected she was pregnant. She would have been avoiding a scandal… using the… the drummer boy only as a cover story. It was a cruel trick but…"

The teenager lapsed into silence. His father was so still the only way you could tell he was alive was by the thin clouds of breath still misting about his mouth.

"One day…" said Artemis Senior, after a long, quiet moment. "One day, God willing, you shall have a child of your own, Artemis. And from that day forward you shall endeavour to protect that child with everything you have on Earth. And when those levels of protection become odd or absurd to other people _you _shall not give a damn because _your _fear will be real, and their safety shall be paramount to all else."

Artemis opened his mouth.

"Just humour me," said his father sharply. "It is one night. Come the morning you may go back upstairs… and you may laugh at my foolishness for as long as you wish."

The sixteen-year-old frowned and pulled his blankets closer to him… and then he heard it.

_Doom._

His gaze shot up to meet his father's.

"What was that?"

Artemis Senior raised his head.

"What was what?"

_Doom. _

"There's…. I heard a drum."

_Doom. Doom._

"Yes, that is a drum," snapped Artemis, his face suddenly flushing, "as you must know it is! Is this all a joke, father? Are you playing some form of prank on me?"

Artemis Senior rose from his seat.

"Butler!" He yelled through the door. "It has started! I do not know what shall happen now but you must stand strong!"

The teenager's laptop fell to the floor with a crunch of plastic and microchips as the sixteen-year-old got to his feet.

"What's going on?" he demanded, the pike scraping against the side of his jacket. "Why am I...? Why…?"

"Artemis, sit down," ordered his father. "You are not going anywhere."

But the teenager's eyes had suddenly become glassy, unfocused.

"I…" He exhaled slowly. "I..." He looked at his father. "I must go."

Heat rushed Artemis Senior's veins. The boy took a step towards the door but his father pushed him quickly back.

A light flickered in the corner of the room.

"No," whispered Artemis Senior, and then stronger, "_no!_"

But his son's gaze was already turning. He stretched out a pale, pianist's hand to the light, just as she once had… and his father wrenched it down.

"Mister Fowl," called Butler from outside. "What's happening in there? Are you both alright?"

Artemis Junior stared at his father.

"You must let me go_,_" he said softly.

"I must do nothing of the sort."

"You… you must."

Artemis Senior squared his jaw. He pressed his hands against his son, pressing at his jacket, his chest, pushing him against the wall of the cell.

"No," he said firmly, settling his grip, feeling the pike graze against his leg,"we are staying right here. You and I shall fight this. I will not let it happen again._"_

There was a bang from outside and the clanking of chains.

"Please_,_" gasped Artemis, his breath restricted due to his father's hands. "I am meant to go."

"_No_," insisted Artemis Senior. "I shall _not_ lose you too!"

"What's going on?" demanded Butler's muffled voice through the wood. "Mister Fowl, answer me!"

Then Artemis raised his hands and prised his father's fingers apart as easily as if they belonged to an infant. Artemis Senior's eyes widened. It was happening just as it had forty years ago, _all over again._

Artemis's voice was calm, clear. "I must go."

Butler shouldered his way through the door. After kicking aside the laptop and chain links he registered the sight of his charge's slack expression, the hands of Artemis's Senior bunched at his coat front.

"_Close the door!" _bellowed the Fowl Patriarch.

The bodyguard ignored him.

"I want to go, Butler," said Artemis. "Please, you must let me go."

"What's going on?"

"You mustn't listen to him," insisted Artemis Senior. "He is not himself!"

"Then just who the Hell is he meant to be?" demanded Butler.

Then the teenager shot forwards.

"_Artemis,"_ gasped Butler, as his charge's fingers tightened around his biceps, his pale face appearing inches from his own.

"Let me go," whispered the boy.

But Butler had lost his principal twice already and whatever the hell was going on here, he wasn't about to allow a hat trick. He squared his jaw and gripped Artemis's skinny arms back.

"Not on your nelly."

Then the boy's face twisted and he wrenched backwards. Butler came with him.

Artemis Senior scrambled aside as the pair hurtled back into the cell. There was a terrific crash and a cloud of dust exploded across the room. The Fowl Patriarch coughed, screamed–

"_Artemis!_"

The dust cleared. The teenager had his back to the wall, his eyes wide and his face white. His bodyguard had shifted his hands at the last minute so they had collided with the wall either side of Artemis's head.

"I… I must go…" whispered the boy.

Butler's face was grim. "No…way," he panted.

Then a single droplet of blood trailed down from the corner of Artemis's mouth.

The bodyguard's heart stuttered.

"_Artemis!_"

His charge's gaze began to wander strangely and more blood blossomed between his lips.

Butler gripped his shoulders. "Artemis, what's–? What–?"

Then he looked down and saw the boy's shaking, scarlet hands.

"The pike," groaned Artemis Senior from the floor. "He's backed into the pike!"

"_No,_" whispered Butler.

The teenager's eyes rolled up into his head and he pitched forwards. Butler caught him in his arms.

"Artemis," he snapped, his heart beating a mile a minute. "Artemis, stay with me."

Artemis Senior was rocking with his head in his hands. "He's gone, he's _gone_!"

"Get yourself together!" roared Butler. "I need something to staunch the bleeding! _Now!_"

Artemis Senior raised his head and stared at a point just over Butler's shoulder. A strange light was growing in the corner of the room. The bodyguard looked down at the boy in his arms. The teenager seemed almost _mesmerised_.

"Let me go," he whispered.

"No. No, Artemis, it's not happening."

"You _must_."

"No, I really mustn't."

"I am the last."

"I don't _care._"

_Doom. Doom._

"Vesta..."

"No. _No! __Artemis!_"

And as the light slowly faded in the corner of his eye, Butler lost his charge for the third and final time.

* * *

**Always wanted to write a straight-up ghost story! And I've never killed Artemis before... A night for firsts!**_  
_

**What did you guys think? :)**

**(P.S. Didn't get half as many reviews for chapter 12 than the rest of my chapters - was it just not liked? :/ Please drop me a review to tell me what you thought of it. I was experimenting with my writing in that chapter and I would like to know more of what people thought...) **


	14. Made Up

**Long overdue bit of straight-up Hartemis. They're going to a posh LEP dinner or summat... who cares? **

**This was inspired by my house mate TRYING to teach me how to do 'smokey eyes'. Emphasis on SHE TRIED. I know sod all about make up and less about dress alteration - I'll just put that out there and apologise now. Yeah, anyway, there's nowt going on between my house mate and me but I did realise just how... intimate it is to have someone applying your make up - and yeah, this was born! **

**Enjoy folks :)**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Artemis Fowl! (haven't said it in a while - felt I should reiterate)**

**WARNING - THERE'S A SINGLE USE OF AN EXPLETIVE IN THIS! WON'T GIVE TOO MUCH AWAY, BUT IT INVOLVES THE LETTERS 'U', 'C', 'F' AND 'K'.**

* * *

Made Up

"So… what do you think?"

Artemis laid his tablet down on his lap. Holly Short was stood in the door of her bedroom holding sheepishly to the skirts of a full-length, sleeveless, sky-blue evening gown.

"Well?" she prompted, swishing the material slightly. "Lily Frond leant it to me. It's a little… baggy about the bust area but I've padded it out a bit and I think it's fine… I think. What do you think?"

The teenager tapped a finger ponderingly against his lips. "It's good," he said eventually. "It is… Yes, it is quite adequate."

"Adequate?" repeated Holly. She let the skirt fall. "I'm not looking for a major ego stroke here Artemis but _quite_ _adequate?_"

"For a dress that clearly doesn't fit you, in a colour that is far too _summer _for the autumn of your skin tone, it is… yes. Adequate."

The elf glared at him, turned tail, and strode back into her room. The sound of wardrobe doors banging open soon followed.

"Well I don't _have _anything else!"

Artemis sighed and got up from the sofa.

"I don't _do _formal occasions," she ranted riffling through her closet just as he was ducking through the doorway. "I just work. And occasionally I'll go for a coffee with friends. And _sometimes _I'll go dancing in which case I'll just wear what I would wear to go for _coffee_ just with more _eyeliner_–"

"Did you do your own make up?"

She turned on him. "Have you _seen_ anyone sneak in here? Yes, I did my own make up."

"Sit down."

"What?"

"Come. Sit down."

She banged the wardrobe doors closed. He stepped graciously aside to let her pass before taking her place at the closet.

"What about this?" he asked as she flumped down onto the bed, reaching into the wardrobe and holding out a burnt-orange number that sparkled slightly in the light from the bedside lamp.

"I wore that twenty years ago at the _last_ awards thingy," she said grumpily. "Everyone's seen it already but… I guess that doesn't really matter. It's only a stupid –"

But Artemis had already thrust it back. "No. There are no repeats when it comes to public fashion."

Holly cocked an eyebrow. He pulled out a second dress, purple with streaks of green winding about the corset.

"And what is _this_?" he demanded, half-laughing.

She folded her arms. "It was the eighties. Everyone dressed like that…"

He shook his head and dropped it to the floor.

"Hey!" she protested.

"_Leave_ _it_."

_This is typical, _she thought, sitting back up on the bed as he continued to flick through her clothes. _There's a twenty-year-old human going through my closet deciding which dress would look best on me. _Artemis Fowl _is going through my closet deciding which dress would look best on me… How did this become normality?_

_You _know_ how you got to this_, said a stern voice from the back of her head.

_Yeah, I got kidnapped, friendship blossomed, blah blah blah…_

_Friendship? _repeated the voice.

"A-ha!" cried Artemis suddenly, diverting her attention. "What about this?"

Holly's nose wrinkled. He was holding up a long-sleeved, scoop-necked, knee-length black dress.

"It's just a little… boring," she said. "I wore it as a teenager for college. It's decades old."

The teenager closed the wardrobe. "Put it on."

"Artemis, _really_–"

But he had already tossed it towards her, sweeping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

"Artemis!" she shouted after him. "This isn't _formal_ enough! Lily's dress will be _fine_! Stuff my _autumn _skin tone, I'll just–"

"Trust me, Holly!"

The elf glared after him for a moment more before huffing and standing to unzip the side of her gown.

"Stupid Mud Boy," she seethed, pulling at the silk. "You were _fine. _You looked _fine._ So he said you looked adequate? So _what_? He'd call the Elgin Marbles 'adequate'. Why should it matter…?"

_Friendship? _said the voice again.

Alright!" she snapped. "I'm in it."

The door opened slowly. Artemis scanned her from the doorway, his hawk-like gaze roving from bare toes to neckline. Holly was unimpressed.

"You see?" she said, flapping at the fading skirt. "Dowdy. Boring. Can I get back in Lily's dress now?"

He twirled a finger.

"Face the other way."

Holly felt his hand touch lightly to her back and she was swizzled gently but forcefully towards the mirror set into her closet door. She could see him stood over her shoulder, tall and perfectly turned-out in his crisp tuxedo. She could feel him too, the subtle heat causing the hairs to rise up on the back of her neck.

"Do you hold any sentiment for this dress?" he asked softly.

Holly frowned. "Well, not–" she started before he had gripped the material at her shoulder and yanked down.

The seams snapped easily beneath the sudden pressure and he stripped the whole sleeve down and quickly away from her arm. Holly's jaw dropped.

"_Artemis!"_ she semi-screamed.

He dropped the material to the ground.

"What–? _What_–?" Her mouth was opening and closing, staring wide eyed at her now bare arm.

"Do not move."

Of course she did the opposite. But not before he had slipped the blade of a pair of scissors, _her kitchen scissors_, beneath the seam at her right shoulder and cut.

"_What are you doing?_" she demanded, her back slamming into her bedroom wall, hands rushing up to secure the falling front of her dress.

Artemis surveyed her coolly. "Making adjustments."

"_With scissors?_ "

"I would not have hurt you. I have _not_ hurt you."

Holly just stared at him.

"Get out," she said, striding towards the bed. "Leave so I can put on Lily's dress and I can go to the ceremony. You can make your own way there."

"Holly–"

"I mean it."

Artemis sighed. "I shall put down the scissors."

She snatched the handle out of his hand. "Artemis, _leave_."

"I am _sorry_. Alright? I should have told you what I was planning to do."

She spun him, put both her palms flat to the small of his back and drove him from the room.

"Holly–"

The bedroom door slammed behind him. He turned, sighed and rested his forehead against it.

"Holly?"

There were scuffles from inside the room. Angry scuffles. The twenty-year-old rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

_How many times must we do this?_

"Holly, please..."

He heard only more bangs and the unmistakable sound of muttering. Artemis closed his eyes and knocked his head once against the faux wood. Then the door opened and he nearly fell onto the elf stood, fuming, in the frame.

"Get in here," she growled, "before I change my mind."

And he was yanked inside by the front of his shirt. He was just straightening it again as she shut the door. She was dressed only in her underwear now; a black basque and dark tights.

Holly put her hands on her hips. "You've got it in my head now," she said.

Artemis looked at her. "Got what in your head?"

"The _autumn _of my skin tone. How Lily's dress _patently doesn't fit me._"

"Well, it doesn't."

She pursed her lips and grabbed the old, newly ripped, college dress up from the bed.

"What were you going to do with this?"

He tried not to smile. "Do you trust me?"

She held out the dress and without another word he took it. Her dressing chair squeaked a little as he pulled it out to sit at her dresser. He picked up the scissors again and she took her place on the bed. Artemis held the ripped sleeve up to the lamp light for a moment, scrutinizing it…then the dress was thrust back down and the blades flashed. Holly clasped her knees.

"So. Is dressmaking just another one of your many talents?"

Artemis flipped the material over.

"Quantum physics, computer hacking… and tailoring?"

He cut up the side of the skirt.

"I have many talents you are yet to discover," he said. "This is merely one of them."

He glanced at her in the mirror.

Holly frowned.

He stood swiftly from the dresser.

"Here, put it back on."

She slid from the bed and raised her arms. He dropped the dress over them and allowed gravity to pull the rest into place. Holly helped a little at the hips, yanking at the shortened skirt until it came to rest mid-way up her thighs. The shoulder was still falling free.

"Artemis–"

"I have the solution."

He had shot one of his cuffs and twisted a silver, studded cufflink from its home.

"Turn around."

She put her back to him, facing the wardrobe mirror, and felt his heat once more as he pulled the dress into place across her chest and up to her left shoulder. Pinching the thin material at the front and the back he pierced the sheets with his cufflink and secured them.

"There," he said, laying his hands briefly on her shoulders.

Holly met the eyes of his reflection.

"Make up," he said, staring into the brown and blue. "Where do you keep it?"

She pointed wordlessly to a dresser drawer. He moved away to open it and Holly released a quiet breath.

"You're being very domestic tonight," she said, pulling consciously at her altered dress.

Artemis was snapping open various tubes and tubs, checking to see what they contained.

"I just like things to look their best."

"Things?"

"Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"I'm going to help you."

She stared at him, wary.

"Holly…"

She released another quiet breath and did as he had requested. The bed shifted beneath her, rocked slightly, and she knew he had mounted it with his knee. Then something wet and paste-like was pressed into the inside corner of her left eye taking her by surprise. She flinched.

"Have you done this before?" she asked, disgruntled, her heart slowly calming.

He re-stocked the brush and moved to her right eye, stroking away the shadows. Carefully. Gently.

"I have."

He flicked once, twice at the edges of her eyelashes before Holly heard something being snapped shut. She opened one eye.

"Where? When?"

"Boarding school. Close your eyes."

"But didn't you go to an all-boys school?"

"_Close your eyes_."

She acquiesced. And something unmistakably powdery was dusted over the whole of her face. She fought the urge to cough. Soft bristles swept briefly across her cheekbones, under her jaw, brushed over her chest… Something was snapped shut again.

"Did you use to do the other boys' makeup?"

"Only the ones I liked."

Holly did open her mouth then, when she felt something small press over her left eyelid.

"Did you do shows for each other?" she asked as he stroked, caressed.

"On special Sundays."

"_Special_ Sundays?"

"Don't smile, your eyes are clenching."

She released a low breath and forced her face to relax. She could felt the human's heat again, hear his own steadying breaths just inches from her… Her hands tightened slightly in her lap.

"You need some new cosmetics," he said softly, moving to her right eye. "Some of these are decades old."

"I hardly use them. I can't wear makeup on duty, remember?"

"Off duty?"

"Too much effort."

He sighed. "You don't have the appropriate brushes for this part so I am going to have to use my finger."

"As long as it's a clean one."

He didn't dignify that with an answer. And Holly's smile faltered as she felt his touch at the corner of her left eye. He was applying something soft and satiny, drawing it inside the curve of her eye-socket, following the bone with the edge of what must be his smallest finger.

"Tell me if I am hurting you," he said quietly.

"You're not," she replied.

He stopped half-way along the bone, his hand just grazing her eyelashes, before brushing the powder gently outwards towards her brow bone with the pad of a different finger. Holly was frozen in her seat. Every nerve in her body seemed to have migrated to where his fingers were working. His touch had turned electric, charged…

"So these shows," she said. "Did you enjoy them?"

He hand stroked briefly against her cheek, whether by accident she couldn't know.

"Immensely."

"What… what did they involve?"

She heard him withdraw; one cap was closed and another was opened.

"Oh, the usual. Cabaret. A little light burlesque."

"Burlesque?"

"You're clenching again."

"Sorry."

Another finger swept just below her right eyebrow. It seemed he had decided to abandon brushes completely now.

"And what role did you play? Or were you only on costume and make up?"

His finger skimmed beneath her left brow.

"I would tread the boards occasionally."

"On the _very _special Sundays?"

"How did you guess?"

She laughed before forcing her face straight again. He was dabbing at the corners of her eyes now, quickly, expertly. Something else was snapped shut.

"What was your stage name?"

"Patricia."

"That's boring."

"You haven't seen the act."

"Will you show me? Next very special Sunday?"

"Perhaps." Her chair creaked as she felt him lean his hand on the arm. "I'm going to do your eyeliner. You have to stay very still or else I shall just draw up your face."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

"A promise. Now remain… very still."

She did as she was bid, returning to a slightly-amused statue in her chair.

Then his heat leaned over her. She felt the heel of his hand stroke against her dry lips. The brush was miniscule, but he seemed to be handling it_, _beginning topaint _agonisingly_ slowly along the very lip of her eyelid. Holly could feel the slight tremor in his hand; it was advancing along with the wetness, the coolness of it clashing with the rising heat in her cheeks.

The brush flicked slightly at the edge of her eye.

"I'm sorry," said Artemis quietly. "I know this must be uncomfortable for you. I am almost done…"

She wanted to say something but that would mean moving. The brush stroked at the edge of her other eye…

Her hands gripped the chair rests, her knees pressed tightly together.

_Focus on the weird. Focus on the weird._

"Done," he said, standing straight again, "_but do not open your eyes._"

She relaxed. "Why?"

"It needs to dry. Now, open your mouth."

Holly almost choked on thin air.

"Your lipstick," he said quickly.

Now Holly could _definitely_ do her own lipstick. All this 'precision' eye work perhaps not… but lipstick? She knew it and he knew and yet… she said nothing.

His index finger crooked under her chin, drawing her face upwards.

"Open your mouth," he said again.

She did as she was told and felt another brush against lips, slick and glossy this time. She tried to keep her breathing shallow as he painted but it was nigh impossible. He traced the edge of her mouth, his finger still pressed to her chin, keeping her face steady. She could feel the eyeliner drying, tightening the skin of her eyelid. She breathed out…

The fingers retreated.

"Alright," he said softly.

She opened her eyes and was met with the smooth back of his tuxedo. He was putting her things back away in the dresser drawer. Holly got out of her chair.

_Whoa, _was her first thought. She leant closer to the glass of the mirror, raising both her eyebrows.

"Here." He pressed a small tube into her hand from behind. "Zig zag the brush," he advised, walking back towards the bed. "It makes for better lash coverage."

Holly snorted. "You sound like an advert."

"I helped write some of them. Cosmetics are a highly lucrative market."

She closed the tube with a snap.

"There," he murmured. "Perfect."

Their eyes met once more in the mirror.

"We'll be late," said Holly, "if we don't set out soon."

Artemis agreed. "We shall."

Neither made an effort to move.

_D'arvit._

Holly finally looked away, her expression tight, strained. She walked to her dresser and slammed the mascara back into its drawer.

"What about blusher?" she demanded to the fake wood. "Won't I need that?"

"The room will be warm," he said from the bed, "and your face has enough definition as it is."

"Lip coat?"

"Take the lipstick with you and reapply when you need to."

"Right. Right, okay."

He stood up.

"Holly–"

"I'll call a taxi," she said, stooping to grab her heels from just under the wardrobe. "I'm not taking The Stick in these things."

"Holly–"

"Have you seen my bag? Did I leave it in the living room?"

"It's on the armchair."

"Right."

She brushed past him on the way out. Artemis's frown deepened.

He walked in on her just as she was fishing out her keys.

"You ready?" she asked briskly, closing her bag. "We'll have a load of traffic to get through to the temple."

"Holly, stop."

"I've got the fare, so don't worry about cash. Not that you ever do–"

Then she noticed the unravelled bow tie in the human's hand.

"What are you doing?"

He stepped forward.

"Artemis–" She held up her hands, her key chain still looped over her ring finger.

"Turn around."

"Artemis–"

His mouth had twisted, his brow creased as if he were somehow disappointed with her.

"Please," he said curtly.

Holly relented. He stepped up behind her and for one, stupid moment she thought he was going to blindfold her... but then the silk passed over and below her arms, looping as a belt just above her hips. He fastened it at her spine.

"Now you have a waist," he said in her ear.

She turned back to him. He was wearing that same look again.

"Artemis–"

"What?"

Her eyes narrowed witheringly.

"Don't talk to me like that. You're not a child anymore; you don't have an excuse."

"No, I don't. And thus neither do you."

There was a silence.

"Right," said Holly flatly. "Right. Of course."

"What?"

"Fuck's sake, Artemis," she said with a sigh. "You have, as usual, decided to breach things at _precisely _the wrong–"

"Why are you angry?"

She tucked her clutch beneath her arm. "We're going to be late, okay? Can we just leave here and go?"

"Don't you think we have something to discuss?"

She stared at him for a second. Then she dropped her bag to the sofa.

"Okay. I'm here." She folded her arms. "What do you want to discuss?"

He simply looked at her for a second, seemingly confused. It was a strange sight, a strange moment, and Holly waited patiently for it to end.

"You… you love me," he said.

Holly nodded as if she were a professor acknowledging a student's point.

"Well…" He threw up a hand. "Well shouldn't that just be _it_, Holly?"

"No," she said sharply, actually jabbing her finger in her direction. "No, it shouldn't be. You don't have the first _clue_ about what this should be."

The human's expression darkened.

"You've never been in love before, Artemis. I have. I've been in love, I've _had_ affairs_. _I've loved someone, I've shared a bed, shared my life."

She looked at him.

"And what?" he blurted. "Your objection is because I am not… not _experienced–_?"

"You are my _best friend._"

"I am more than that."

She actually laughed.

"For Frond's _sake_, Artemis. I helped bring you back from the dead. I've saved your hide more times than you've had tins of _Almas_."

"My point exactly!"

"I just don't want to do this with you. Okay? End of."

Her words soured between them. She walked to the kitchen, pushed the heel of her palm into her forehead.

"I'm going to call the taxi," she called, overly loudly, trying to ignore the blaze of both fronts of emotion: hers and his. "Be ready to leave in ten."

She took her time placing the order before glancing once over her shoulder. He was still glaring at her. She was level with him for once; he stood in the dip in the room that constituted for her 'formal living space'. She could see he wasn't a child anymore. He was fully grown, a man. His blue eyes burned bright.

"You…" She searched for a subject, any subject. "You haven't done anything with my hair."

"I think it is a lost cause," he said flatly.

"Is it? _Seriously_?"

She raised her hands to do… _something, _trying to catch a glimpse of it in the polished steel of her toaster.

_Do not look at him._

"It is far too late, Holly."

She fidgeted with a stray, cropped strand. "You think I can't do _anything_?"

"It is… it is beautiful as it is. It has always been beautiful."

She froze. She could just see the blob of him reflected back in the toaster.

"Are you sure?" she whispered.

"Trust me; I'm an ex cross-dresser."

She straightened with a snort with laughter. "Shut up, Artemis."

"Make me."

Her smile faltered.

She knew that she had arrived at one of those moments she was going to think about a lot in the future regardless of what her next move was going to be. If she said what was sensible, what her often-muted sense of propriety was telling her to say, then she would think about it most probably with pain… definitely with pain. If she said what had scuttered on the tip of her tongue a hundred times an adventure already then she would probably look back and cringe… but he would be there with her as her cheeks burnt… probably just making her feel worse...

"Are you _sure_?" she repeated quietly, forcefully. "Because this… this is the point of no return for me. If we do this… everything is going to change for us."

He stepped up towards her, his expression calm, contemplative.

She held up a hand. "Artemis, I mean it. This… this _can't_ be a game. Not this time. You can't… you _cannot_ play with this... with something this..."

He pressed his palm against hers.

"Artemis…."

"Your lipstick has smudged," he said lightly.

She frowned suddenly. "No, it–"

Yes, it had.

* * *

**That ending is atrocious but... it's getting late now. **

**Review, please? :)**

**AND BY THE WAY - 202 REVIEWS FOR 13 CHAPTERS? WTF GUYS? Amazing - every single one of you. Thanks so much for all the lovely comments and encouragement - thanks so so much.**

**Holi**

**P.S. Artemis wasn't actually being serious when he was talking about being a cross-dresser as a teenager :P He was just flirting - making banter (from recent reviews, I think I haven't perhaps made that clear enough in the story...). The real reason he knows how to do make up is because he takes an active, supportive role in his oldest friend's alternative, weekend lifestyle as a drag queen. (Wolfy, you know it's true).**


	15. Grapes

**Posting these because I think they need an airing after sitting, so long and so forgotten, in the ether of neglected, supposedly-adopted fanfics (hi there, Ru), and I've also had several requests to bring them back.**

**These were written during the beautiful days before TLG came out, when we were all COMPLETELY obsessed with giving Artemis therapy and unburdened by fairy rose feels.**

* * *

Grapes

**RESTRICTED ACCESS**

**Document – 2568796  
Patient No. 55555 (AFII)  
Day ** *  
Verbal Log (extract)**

H – A******?

A – Hello, H****.

_Door clicks shut._

H – Hey.

A – Hello.

_Pause_

H – How's your head?

A – Still slightly diseased. How's yours?

_Pause_

H – It's good. Thanks.

A – I'm glad to hear it.

_Pause_

H – A******, I –

A – Would you care for –?

_Pause_

A – My apologies. What were you going to say?

H – Nothing. Who would I care for?

A – I was going to say a grape.

H – Oh. Um, yeah, I'll have a grape.

A – Here. They're really quite delicious, if a little clichéd beside a sickbed.

_Bag rustles._

H – You're right.

A – About the cliché or the taste?

H – Both.

A – Mother brought them for me. She wasn't sure whether fairy food  
would be quite up to proper standards –

H – A******, I lied.

_Pause_

A – I'm sorry?

H – Earlier. Frond, that sounds so dramatic. Just… when I said I  
didn't have anything to say… I did.

_Pause_

A – Then why didn't you say it?

H – Because you interrupted me.

A – I interrupted you about grapes, H****. Surely if you had anything  
important to say to me it would have taken precedence.

H – Well, I didn't know you were going to talk about grapes, did I?  
You asked me would I care for something.

A – Yes. For grapes.

H – Look. Could we please just leave the grape thing alone? Gods, you  
are so hard to talk to sometimes.

_Pause_

A – Would you mind if I continued to eat the grapes?

H – Do what you want, A******.

A – Thank you. I shall.

_Pause_

H – Enjoying those?

A – Very much. Would you care for another?

H – No.

_Pause_

H – Are you even bothered about what I was going to say to you?

A – Not if you thought it was an inferior topic to grapes.

_Slapping noise._

A – Ow!

H – You deserved it.

A – That is going to leave a mark.

H – Good.

A – You know I have no idea what Orion was talking about calling you  
Fair Maiden. He made you sound so soft and gentle.

H – Well, Orion went on about a lot of things that supposedly didn't make sense.

A – That he did.

_Pause_

H – Chuck me a grape.

A – Oh ho! So the grapes are back in favour now are they?

H – Shut up and pass me a grape.

A – No.

H – Fine. I'll get one myself.

A – No, you won't.

_Scuffles and a bag rustling_.

H – A******!

_More scuffles._

H – Stop being childish!

A – Being technically the only child in the room I reserve the right  
to be as childish as–

H – A******! We're going to–!

_Bang._

H – Fall.

_Pause_

A – H****.

H – Yes?

A – Your knee is in my groin.

_Pause_

H – Sorry.

_Scuffles._

H – Well…I got your grapes.

A – You did indeed.

H – _Sorry_.

A – It was an accident I'm sure.

H – Our meetings always tend to end in those.

A – Why, are you leaving?

H – No. Not unless you want me to?

A – I don't.

_Pause_

A – Who else would help me finish all of these?

_Pause_

A – Who did you think I was asking you to care for, H****?

H – I thought you were asking me to care for you.

A – And why did that stop you from saying what you were going to say?

H – Because I was going to ask you whether you'd been thinking about  
asking me to care for you.

A – And you stopped in order to let me do it?

H – Yes.

_Pause_

H – But then you talked about grapes instead: an altogether safer subject.

A – Which is something you and I have always been great fans of: safety.

H – Bivouacs: brilliant things.

A – Indeed.

_Pause_

A – Would you care for me, H****?

_Pause_

H – I'd prefer a grape.

A – H****.

_Pause_

H – I don't know.

A – A fair answer. I don't often care for myself.

H – You know I _care_for you, A******. It's just whether I…

_Pause_

A – Do not worry, H****. I should never have asked you.

H – But it was my fault that you did.

A – Weren't you prepared for it?

H – I thought I would be. I thought I'd know when it came.

A – Then you knew I would eventually ask unprompted?

H – I knew there was… something in Orion that was in you.

_Pause_

A – Idiocy.

H – No, A******. Not idiocy.

_Pause_

A – I still think of it you know; on the bonnet of that car. The  
windscreen wiper was sticking into my hip.

_Pause_

A – And you. There at my side. Your eyes closed. The sunset painted  
against your skin.

_Pause_

A – You know.

_Pause_

A – I think I would have kissed you.

_Pause_

H – I think I would have kissed you back.

A – Really?

_Pause_

A – You mean you wouldn't have hit me?

H –What–? _No!_

A – Come now, H****. You cannot say it would have been out of character.

H – What–? How –? How do you even _do_this?

A – Do what?

H – Manage to turn everything into an argument!

A – We're not having an argument.

H – A******.

A – What?

_Pause_

H – Well get on–

A – Would you care–

_Pause_

A – Sorry. What were you saying?

H – You first.

A – I was going to ask if you wanted any more grapes.

_Pause_

H – Are you being serious?

A – Why? What were you going to say?

H – Really? Really? Surely even _you_cannot be this emotionally stunted.

A – Emotionally–? What?

H – I give up. Truly, I give up.

A – H****, I don't have the slightest–

H – I was going to tell you to get on with kissing me!

_Pause_

A – Tell me again.

_Pause_

A – H****. Please. I promise I shan't interrupt.

_Pause_

H – Pass me a grape.

A – H****!

H – Grape.

_Pause_

H – Hmmm.

_Pause_

H – These are so moreish.

_Pause_

A – This is hardly ethical, H****.

H – What is?

A – Torturing a mental patient.

_Pause_

H – You're only a little mental.

_Pause_

H – There. Finished.

A – You're sure? You wouldn't care for a biscuit or anything?

H – Well if you're–

A – I was being facetious.

_Pause_

H – You know I thought about it too.

A – On the car?

H – Yep. Me, going on and on. You, just looking at me. Just looking.

A – I was memorising the moment.

H – For future self-torment?

A – Something like that.

_Pause_

H – Exactly like that.

_Pause_

H – And, yes.

A – Yes, what?

H – Yes. I would care for you.

_Pause_

A – Ask me, H****.

_Pause_

A - Ask me everything.

_Pause_

H – Would you care for me?

A – Yes.

H – Would it be so bad?

A – No.

_Pause_

H – Would you please get on with kissing me?

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS****  
****Document – 2568145****  
****Patient No. 55555.2 (OETF)****  
****Day ******  
****Verbal Log (extract)**

O – Maiden?

H – Don't call me that.

O – My Lady?

H – Or that.

O – But–

H – No touching!

_Pause_

O – H****?

_Pause_

H – What?

O – I _love _you.

H – Oh for–

O – I can hold it in no longer!

_Bed creaks._

H – Orion, what are you–?

O – You are my breath, my heartbeat, the very fibre of my soul!

H – Please, tell me that's your phone–

O – Without you my being would simply cease to be!

H – Okay, that's _definitely _not a phone–

O – I would scatter, pointless, aimless to the winds!

_Door clicks._

B – A******, I've got the coffee you–

_Pause_

B – What's going on?

_Scuffling._

O – Ah! My goodly manservant! It is a good day to be met!

B – Met?

H – _Orion, get off me._

B – Orion?

O – Yes! It is I! Orion Erasmus Theolonious Fowl!

B – What?

O – What indeed, my dear fellow, you see–!

_Bang._

H – There. Stay. _Frond,_ he's gotten heavy.

_Pause_

B – Care to explain, H****?

H – B*****, meet Orion. A******'s alter–

O – And I love her like a marmoset loves its own children!

H – _Stay on the floor_.

B – Marmoset?

H – He tends to talk like that.

B – Ah.

_Slight creak._

H – Stay on the floor, Orion!

O – But, Maiden!

H – Don't touch me!

O – Oh, I would never! Never in the presence of another, my lady!  
Those matters are to be saved for the _privy _chamber.

_Pause_

H – B*****. Don't leave me.

B – Wasn't planning to.

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS****  
****Document – 2568146****  
****Patient No. 55555 (AFII)****  
****Day ******  
****Verbal Log (extract)**

A – H****, I am so–

H – Yeah. Don't mention it.

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS****  
****Document – 2568225****  
****Patient No. 55555 (AFII)****  
****Day ******  
****Verbal Log (extract)**

_A single clap_.

N1 – Right! Let's get cracka-lackin! That's a new phrase I learnt from  
watching human sitcoms.

A – That's marvellous, N**.

_Gasp._

N1 – Was that sarcasm, A******? I've _almost_ learnt sarcasm! It's just  
all very confusing. I never know if –

_Fingers clicking._

H – N**. Focus.

N1 – Oh! Sorry, H****! Where was I? Ah yes, purging A******'s body of  
all magic. I remember.

A – So how will the process actually work? Do you need to cast a spell?

N1 – No. No spell. I just lay my hands on you and absorb any magic I  
sense back to me. Clean as a whistle.

_Pause_

N1 – As long as it doesn't undo all the healing you've received over  
the years – then it'll be clean as M****'s apartment!

B – A******, I don't like the sound of this.

A – Neither do I old friend, but if it is magic that is keeping the  
complex here…

B – Will it hurt him, N**?

N1 – The process will most likely be uncomfortable, yes. But there  
shouldn't be any long term effect.

_Pause_

B – Uncomfortable?

N1 – Um… Painful, agonising, excruciatingly–

A – Thank you, N**.

N1 – But there's no need to worry too much, A******! Since you used  
all of your stolen magic on healing your mother there shouldn't be  
much left to purge. I don't think I'll need to absorb for very long.

A – Well at least that's something. Do you need me to lie down?

N1 – I think that would be best.

_Bed creaking._

B – A******, I really –

A – Please, B*****, take your protests outside. They are no help in here.

N1 – If anyone is distressed I can just come back another day…

A – No! We must do this now! Anything to decrease my time in this  
God-forsaken clinic.

N1 – Well, if you're sure…

A – I am, N**. Please proceed.

N1 – Right. Okay.

_Pause_

N1 – Sorry, B*****.

B – Let's just get this over with.

N1 – Right. A******, Doctor Argon told me to stay as far away from  
your head as possible so as not to risk aggravating the complex in any  
way. So, I'm going to absorb everything through your feet.

A – I understand.

N1 – This might lengthen the process a little, seeing as most magic  
resides in the mind, but hopefully since your body's well used to  
having magic running through it, it shouldn't make that much of a  
difference.

H – A******, take my hand.

A – H****?

H – Just take it.

N1 – Okay, if I just slip these off. Whoa. Nice socks, A******. Right,  
sorry, serious. I'll start the first wave now.

_Crackling noise._

H – A******?

A – I'm fine, H****.

H – Just grip my hand when you need to.

_A louder crackling noise._

A – H****, really, I am fine. I am merely experiencing a slight tingli – _AHHHH!_

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS****  
****Document – 2568696****  
****Patient No. 55555 (AFII)****  
****Day *******  
****Verbal Log (extract)**  
_  
__Loud, irreverent, human music._

H – A******? A******! What's with–?

_Pause_

H – What the _d'arvit_?

M – Hey, H****!

H – M****, what is he _doing_?

M – Having a dance. Haven't you ever had a dance?

H – Well, yeah. But I'm not– Frond. He's going to hurt himself!

M – Nah, he's fine.

_Clapping noise._

M – Hey! M** B**! How're the fours going?

A – Well, thank you, but the gremlins are on parade.

M – See? Absolutely fine.

_Bang_.

M – Okay, maybe not.

_Pause_

M – Nope! Look at that! He's up again!

H – M**** he's _ill_.

M – I know that.

H – _Then why are you sat here watching him like some sort of PPTV special?_

M – I'd have you know that he is better than TV. Seriously, I'm  
considering cancelling my subscription and just setting up a couch in  
here.

H – M****!

Bang.

A – Hello, H****!

H – Oh. Hey A******. Shouldn't you be putting some trousers on now?

A – Don't be silly, H****, trousers are for cats.

M – Yeah, H****, don't be silly.

_Bang_.

H – A******! Are you alright?

A – I'm joining the gremlin parade!

H – He definitely wasn't like this yesterday.

M – To be fair, H*****, he wasn't pumped up to his eyeballs with drugs  
yesterday. Whatever Argon gave him was strong stuff.

A – Monkey bollocks!

M – He cracks me up.

_Pause_

H – So exactly how long has he been like this?

M – Um... Nine hours?

H – Nine _hours_. He's been dancing like this for _nine hours_?

M – He did stop for a bit around lunchtime in order to staple all his  
clothing to the ceiling.

H – To the–? What–? _Why_?

M – No idea. I don't think he had much of a clue either.

_Bang_.

H – A******!

M – Oh, calm down, H****. Here, watch this! A***! What's five times five?

A – _Sexy time._

H – No!

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS**

Document – 2568697

Patient No. 55555 (AFII)

Day ***

Verbal Log (extract)

A – H****, I am so–

H – Yeah. Don't mention it.

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS**

**Document – 2568100**

**Patient No. 55555 (AFII)**

**Day ****

**Verbal Log (extract)**

A – _What do you mean Father is outside the door?_

An – Dear, please calm down. He is your father and he is entitled to visit you.

A – I am in a mental institute staffed completely by _fairies_.

An – I had noticed, A******.

A – And now so shall he! I had told you: this _had_to be a secret!

An – He is your father. It was no longer fair to lie to him.

A – Have you told him everything?

An – No, not everything. I thought I would leave that particular story to you.

A – You thought that you _what_?

An – A******. Calm down.

_Door clicks._

AS. – A***?

A – Father! Father, I… Father, I can explain–

AS. – A***.

_Clothing ruffles._

AS. – I am so glad to see you.

_Pause_

A – And I you, Father… Yes.

AS. – Are you well?

A – Yes, Father, I am. Fine.

AS. – And are they treating you properly here, these… these fairies?

A – Very properly, indeed. Very properly.

AS. – Your speech. Why are you talking like this?

An – It is a part of the illness, T****. He is compelled to speak in  
multiples of five.

AS. – Compelled?

A – Atlantis Complex stage one: OCD and multiple personality disorder… Father.

AS. – Multiple personality?

A – I… have an alter ego.

_Pause_

AS. – An alter ego?

An – Orion.

A – Yes. Although I am thankful that you have thus far avoided meeting  
him… Very thankful.

_Pause_

AS. – Well… What is he… she? Like?

A – _He_is my very opposite.

AS. – Unintelligent?

A – Fanciful, dramatic, garish, capricious… romantic.

AS. – Romantic?

An – Oh dear. He doesn't flirt with H**** does he?

A – Mum!

An – Well you do have rather a thing for her, darling.

AS. – Sorry, who?

An – H****: the fairy who saved you in the Arctic.

AS. – Was that her name? And A*** has a thing for her?

A – I do not have a _thing_–

An – There's no need to be ashamed, dear, she's a lovely woman.

AS. – Woman? We're talking about a _woman_? I thought we were talking  
about a girl!

A – And now we are going to talk about something _else_.

AS. – How old is this _woman_?

An – Oh, B***** did tell me.

_Pause_

An - Late nineties?

AS. - _What_?

A – One, two, three, four, five.

AS. – Late _nineties_?

An – Yes, but dear you must remember that fairies age differently from  
us. If she were human she'd probably only be in her early twenties.

AS. – Early _twenties_?

A – One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five.

_Door clicks_

H – Hope you're awake, M** B**, because I brought–! Oh.

_Pause_

H – Am I interrupting something?

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS**

**Document – 2568178**

**Patient No. 55555.2 ****(OETF)**

**Day *****

**Verbal Log (extract)**

_Bang_.

B – Left hook.

_Bang_.

B – Right hook.

_Bang_.

B – Left, right jab.

_Bang. Bang._

B – Good. Excellent. Just remember: keep the elbows in, shoulders loose.

O – Aye aye, goodly manservant!

B – You can just call me B*****, Orion.

O – Goodly B*****!

B – No.

O – Magnificent Protector of the Fifth Supreme–!

B – Alright, alright! Goodly B***** it is. Let's take a break...

_Bed creaks._

O – But I dost not need to break, Goodly B*****! I could champion on for hours!

B – Well A****** can't, so sit... And try to be quiet.

O – Quiet? A champion is never quiet! He strives and crows until his  
goal is reached!

_Pause_

B – I'm probably going to regret asking this but… What goal?

O – I aim to make myself large and strong for the fair maiden! So when  
we finally retreat to the privy chamber she may gaze upon a figure  
that is–

B – Yep, I was right.

O – Dost thou not think it a worthy goal?

B – I think that A****** would probably want you to stop talking now.

O – In the shade of the crepuscular eve we shall ascend to the privy  
chamber and a golden star shall shine upon our union!

B – Orion–

O – And we shall frolic till dawn among the silken sheeting spun by  
the legs of a thousand merry spiders!

B – Orion–

O – And she shall profess her love to me. She shall whisper it sweetly  
in my ear and I shall lift her high to the heavens! Yes! My _love_! My  
dear, sweet Princess! My love! My _love_! _Oh_, my _love_! My _Princess_–!

_Buzz. Bang.__Door clicks._

H – A******?

B – Hello, H****.

H – Oh. B*****. Where's A**–? Ah.

_Pause_

B – He was being Orion.

_Pause_

H – He got that bad?

B – He got over excited.

_Pause_

H – Do I want to know?

B – No.

H – Okay.

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS **

**Document – 2568807**

**Patient No. 55555 (AFII)**

**Day *****

**Verbal Log (extract)**

J – So how're you?

A – I'm well thank you, yourself?

J – Oh, I'm fine.

_Pause_

J – How's therapy been?

A – Taxing. But I've made progress.

J – That's good.

_Pause_

J – Have you snogged H**** yet?

A – J*****!

J – What? It's a reasonable question!

A – Did B***** put you up to this?

J – No.

_Pause_

J – I mean he's interested, yeah–

A – Perfect. Nice to know I can count on his discretion.

J – Oh come on, A***. He hasn't told me anything. I brought it up with  
him first!

_Pause_

J – It's not like it's not obvious that you like her.

A – I can hardly control what _Orion_says–

J – No. Not just Orion. Every time she walks into your room you just… glow.

_Pause_

A – She is my friend, J*****.

_Pause_

J – So have you kissed her?

_Pause_

J – OH MY GOD!

A – J*****, for God's–

J – I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!

A – J*****!

J – My Bro's gonna _freak_!

Door clicks.

B – What will I do?

A – J*****, you dare–!

J – Our little A***'s a _man_!

B – WHAT?

A – B*****–

B – WHEN? WHO? _HOW_?

J – H**** of course! And jeez, D**, probably the conventional way.

B – Is this true?

A – No! She doesn't –

J – _Definitely_. I asked him whether he'd done it yet and he went bright red.

_Door Clicks._

H – Hey, A***! Oh, hi J*****, B*****. Bit crowded in here isn't it?

B – Have you had sex with A******?

J – _What_?

H – _What_?

A – Wow.

B – Well _have_you?

H – No I d'arviting haven't!

J – _Jesus_, Bro.

B – What do you mean "_Jesus, Bro_"? You were the one who told me she had!

J – I meant that he'd _kissed_ her not _shagged_her.

A – Hello, H****. Have you come for a long visit?

B – He just kissed her?

J – Yeah.

_Pause_

B – You mean again?

J – What?

H – _What_?

A – This just keeps getting better.

J – You mean there was a first time _before_this time?

B – Sorry, A******. I thought everyone knew.

A – It is said now.

H – What? Who? Who knows?

B – F**** told me.

H – _F_****.

B – And I think he told M**** too.

J – Am I the only one out of the loop?

_Door clicks._

M – Evening all! Just popping by to see my favourite little mud nut.  
Hmm, bit crowded in here isn't it?

J – Did _you_know about A****** and H****?

M – Why hello to you too, Mud Maid.

J – Well did you?

M – Course I did. Thought everyone knew. Getting in a little  
inter-species five times five during visiting hours. Their ascent to  
the _privy chamber_.

_Pause_

H – What?

M – No need for shame, H****. You're among friends here.

B – A******?

A – I have no clue. Nothing of a sordid nature has ever occurred  
between H**** and myself. I swear it. This is all fabricated slander  
concocted by a mind so often in dirt some of it has obviously seeped  
into the inner workings.

B – Nothing?

H – Believe me. _Nothing_.

_Pause_

M – Yeah.

_Pause_

M – And I'm Lady Gaga.

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**_RESTRICTED ACCESS_**

**_Document – 2568104_**

**_Patient No. 55555 (AFII)_**

**_Day **_**

**_Verbal Log (extract)_**

_Door Clicks_**_._**_  
_  
H – A******? Are you–?

_Pause_

H – Whoa.

A – Hello, H****. How are you?

H – What… What are you wearing?

A – My belated fifteenth birthday present.

H – That's… What does it say? "RANDOMOSITY"? Is that even a word?

A – Not that I'm aware of.

H – Who… Who gave it to you?

A – Mother. She is also forcing me to wear it: _on pain of guilt_.

H – Well… at least it goes well with–

A – My dangerously unstable mental status?

H – I was going to say your new jeans. But I suppose that too.

_Bed creaks._

A – It is humiliating. I know she wishes me to look more like a normal  
teenager but I am not. I mean _clearly_. Would I be talking to you if I  
were _normal_?

H – Probably not.

A – Would I have contracted Atlantis Complex if I were _normal_?

H – No.

A – _No_.

_Bed creaks._

H – Hey, come on. Don't sulk. It's only a T-Shirt.

A – It is not only one!

_Bed creaks. Wardrobe door bangs open_.

A – Look at them all!

H – Holy Frond. Where… where are all your suits?

A – Confiscated! Mother waited until I was in therapy with Argon and  
then took them all!

H – And left you with–

A – These cotton-mix, rainbow-vomit monstrosities!

_Pause_

H – Can I… Can I have a look?

A – Do what you wish to!

_Rattling_.

H – Oh gods. They've all got slogans. What's this one? "_I'm pink on the inside_".

_Pause_

H – Oh my gods. That's… Okay, I'll shut up.

_Rattling_.

H – Hey, this one isn't so bad – "_Bright Spark_". A good reminder, eh?

A – Admittedly, I do not mind that one so very much.

_Rattling_.

H – "I steal hearts not fairies."

_Pause_

A – J***** said it was… appropriate. Apparently I've grown and…

_Pause_

A – It's what females of my species and age often find attractive in a male.

_Pause_

A – She also said something about my hair looking "cool" but frankly I  
think it looks like an overgrown rat's nest.

_Pause_

A – It is only her opinion of course–

H – No.

_Pause_

H – I mean, yes! I meant yes.

_Pause_

H – I mean.

_Pause_

H – Your hair does look quite good… actually.

_Pause_

H – Y'know, the whole… "wind-swept debonair" thing you've got going on.

_Pause_

H – Yep. Heard the Mud Ladies _really_go for that.

_Pause_

H – And y'know. For a M** M** you're not… that bad… facially wise.

_Pause_

H – The general… _face_area...

_Pause_

H – And… I just remembered that I really need to be somewhere!

_Pause_

H – So I'm just going to go. Now. Goodbye.

_Door clicks._

_End verbal log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS**

**Document – 2568700**

**Patient No. 55555 (AFII)**

**D****ay *****

**Verbal Log (extract)**

T – So you think he still needs guarding?

H – The paparazzi are still round here 24/7. If we remove LEP presence  
they'll be inside like vultures on a troll carcass and A****** won't  
get a moment's peace.

T – I think B*****'s more than capable of handling a few photographers.

H – But would you really _want_him handling them?

T – I sure he wouldn't do anything–

H – He would. If A****** was bothered enough, he would.

_Pause_

T – It's been five months, H****.

H – He's recovering.

T – Then why can't he recover top side?

H – They still need to observe him.

T – You mean _you_still need to observe him.

H – Excuse me?

T – Oh, come on, H****! You spend half your time here! Even when  
you're not on guard duty.

H – Meaning?

T – _Meaning_that you're clearly in love with him.

(end of extract)

_RESTRICTED ACCESS__Document – 2568455__Patient No. 55555 (OETF)__Day **__Verbal Log (extract)__Pumping dance music__  
_  
H – Orion, what–?

O – Hello, Miss H****.

H – Why are the lights dimming?

O – Do not be afraid.

H – What?

O – I'd advise you to sit, Miss H****.

H – Where's B*****?

O – He can't hear you.

H – _What_?

O – Just sit, Fair Maiden.

H – Orion, what are you _doing_?

_Ripping noise._

H – Oh my gods.

O – _He was wearing mirrored Ray-Bans™ and a well-tailored suit. When he met you._

H – Why are you wearing spandex–?

O – _He picked you up, he took you home, and locked you away. Deep down__  
__in his basement new.__  
_  
H – Where would you even _get_spandex–?

O – _Now eight years later on you've got his heart at your feet. His__  
__love has come so easy for you._

H – No. Go dance over there–

O – _But now he's sick you hardly even look at him twice: just because__  
__his ego's been spliced. Don't?_

H – Orion–

O – _Don't you want us?_

H – Orion, seriously –

O – _You know we can't believe it when we hear that you won't see us. Don't–?_

H – Orion–

O – _Don't you want us?_

H – I swear I'll hit you right in the sequins–

O – _You know we don't believe it when you say that you don't need us._

_Creak_.

O – _It's much too late to fight._

H – Wait, what's–?

O – _From you we cannot hide._

H – And why is it _glittering_–?

O – _Our love's too much to bare and now we're both ex-plo-ding._

H – B*****!

O – _Don't you want us, H**-**?__  
_  
H – Oh my gods!

O – _Don't you want us? Whoa-oh-oh-oh?_

_Creak_

H – Orion!

O – _Don't you want us, H**-**?_

H – AHHHH!

O – _Don't you want us, whoa-oh-oh-oh_?

H – NO!

_Flump_.

O _– I was bleeding in a crater by an Icelandic bar. When I met you.__  
_  
H – Where's… Where's my buzz baton…?

O – _I couldn't breathe, you wiped my mouth, then I said "hello". You'd__  
__shot me into someone new._

H – Need… to reach…

O – _One month later on and I'm still stuck underground. But I still love you!_

H – PUT ME–

_Buzz_.

_Bang_.

_End Verbal Log (extract)_

* * *

**RESTRICTED ACCESS**

**Document – 3000005**

**Patient No. 55555 (AFII)**

**Day *****

**Verbal Log (extract)**

_Door clicks_

Dr. A – Aaaah. Feckin' hip.

A – You're late.

Dr. A – Yes, alright. You could have got high in my office  
oxygen-chamber while you waited.

A – I did.

Dr. A – Well what's your problem then? You should be relaxed.

A – I am not some Rastafarian monk, Doctor. And this is meant to be my  
last session. I want to be out of here before B*****'s Seasonal  
Affective Disorder worsens.

Dr. A – Alright, alright then. Just a few things first…

_Cards shuffling._

A – Oh God. Not the ink blots.

Dr. A – What?

A – Do you know how horrendously clichéd that is?

Dr. A – Don't care.

_Clack_

Dr. A – Here. What do you see?

A – I see a cliché.

Dr. A – But what does the cliché _suggest_to you?

A – That it is card seventeen million six hundred and seventy-eight  
thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven.

Dr. A – What?

A - It is card seventeen million six hundred and seventy-eight  
thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven. I memorised them all over the  
course of our sessions. You never bother shuffling.

Dr. A – But what does the card _look_like?

A – I see a monkey with its face on fire attempting to rob a Tesco.

Dr. A – Really?

A – No. I see a toaster that has grown hands and found love in an  
unexpected place.

Dr. A – Really?

A – No. I see a pterodactyl transforming slowly into a speaker-phone,  
and I think, Doctor, if you check your handbook, that answer  
falls inside a healthy parameter.

Dr. A – SCIENCE.

A – What–?

Dr. A – I've had enough of inkblots so I thought I'd try and distract  
you with a new, frankly crackpot, idea I've had.

_Pause_

A – Continue.

Dr. A – Have you ever heard of foreshadowing?

A – Is that a joke? I live on Earth, Doctor, in the sun. I think I  
know a little about shadowing...

Dr. A – No, not that type of shadowing. I'm talking about when in a  
book, often towards the end of a series, an author will slip something  
into the plot line that is so random, and so strange that it hasn't  
cropped up before, that actually turns out to drive the entire last  
book's storyline.

A – Interesting, but wouldn't that in fact be called "Hallow-ing"?

Dr. A – Whatever. I've been doing a bit of research and it turns out  
that there's a giant magical hot-spot right under your house that's  
been causing your family to go after fairies for years before you were  
even thought of!

A – Really?

Dr. A – I know! It's almost unbelievable! But your own father once had  
an affair with a stray dwarf that was drawn to the spot. I imagine he  
still dreams of that moment…

A – Good for him. But why was the dwarf drawn to the estate in the first place?

Dr. A – Because of the good vibes the magic gives off. Something  
really magicky must have gone off there years ago.

A – And the magicky magic-ness has been pushing the Fowls towards  
magic ever since?

Dr. A – Exactly. It's a vicious, very trippy, cycle.

A – And this magicky event. Can you be more specific?

Dr. A – Our records don't stretch that far back. The sacrifice of  
Aslan? The forging of the One Ring? I don't think we can ever know for  
sure.

_Pause_

A – Were you deformed as a child?

Dr. A – Why, yes… Yes I was.

A – And were you forced to wear special shoes?

Dr. A – Only on my right tentacles.

A – Well I think that whilst the shoes moved your tentacles back into  
their proper alignment, some of the acid must have leaked into your  
pelvic girdle. You simply need to ingest sixty pots of petits filous™  
and your hip should pose no further problem to you. Here.

_Pause_

A – I took the liberty of finding a decent yoghurt smuggler that lives  
near your area. Apparently he is renowned for his discretion.

_Pause_

A – So may I go now? Have I fulfilled my commitment?

_Pause_

Dr. A – Yes. Yes, I'll just get my stamp.

Draw opens.

Dr. A – Now… lean over the desk and stay still.

A – Is this really necessary, Doctor?

Dr. A – We have to be official.

_Bang_.

A – AH!

Dr. A – Done.

**(END VERBAL LOGS)**

* * *

**They were so fun to do. Hope you all enjoyed :)**

**(Cheers, ILoveFowl!)**


	16. The 'B' Word

**This was a joint effort between the bodaciously Butler-savvy WolfButler and myself. (Seriously, you want anything Butler related, or just heart-tuggingly _family_ centric - _go read her fics_. She's the QUEEN of writing the Butlers. Maybe even THE QUEEN'S MOTHER). It was an honour to write the big man with the master in tandem and I proper enjoyed myself :)**

**So, in turn, we hope you all enjoy this!**

**_Disclaimer: We're not Eoin Colfer. Just two young women in miners caps. (It's grim up North)_**

* * *

The 'B' word

"… and don't forget he's due his afternoon feed at three…"

"Angeline…"

"And if he gets a little grouchy, it's probably because he needs a nap…"

"Angeline…" Artemis interjected again, to no avail.

"Oh, and don't forget to play him Mozart if you do put him down for bo-bos, because I've been assured that it's excellent for his mental development. His favourite is–"

"Angeline!"

"Yes, dear?" replied the Fowl matriarch brightly.

Her husband sighed and took Angeline's coat from a waiting handmaid. "We will be fine. Now please, enjoy your trip."

"I know, I know," she huffed, slipping her arms through the outstretched garment. "And I know that Butler cares for him on a daily basis, usually without the aid of those dithering maids you hired, but I still feel rather odd leaving my little boy behind like this…"

"The 'dithering maids' as you put them, dear," Artemis Senior said with a slight frown upon his wide brow, "are in place to make your life more comfortable. And as for Butler's competence as a nanny; I would rather he concentrated on his duties as a bodyguard than became a fulltime babysitter to our son."

It's a bit late for that, Butler thought to himself, jiggling his charge slightly. The boy was small for his age, still barely the size of his bodyguard's forearm. But then again, Butler's forearms weren't exactly small.

Angeline finished fiddling with the buttons of her coat before reaching out and stroking a hand briefly across her son's head. "Well, I suppose you're right. And it's about time you had some proper father-and-son time with our little Arty, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Artemis said, sounding anything but excited about the prospect of spending the day in the company of a seven-month-old baby. But Butler would be there with him to handle the... messy side, of course. Although his own bodyguard, The Major, would be accompanying Angeline on her excursion to a large designer clothes store. If possible, the giant bodyguard looked even less enamoured with his end of the deal than his charge.

"For God's sake, don't let anything happen to them whilst I'm out. The woman will throw a hissy fit," he had muttered earlier to his nephew, whilst he checked his various 'equipment' was in full working order.

Butler had grunted an affirmative to his uncle and refrained from rolling his eyes. As if Missus Fowl's sanity was the only reason he would be more vigilant than usual whilst his uncle was away from the manor. His absence alone at least doubled Domovoi's workload. He was grateful only for the fact that Artemis Senior had no business trips planned for today and so the entire time should be spent within the manor grounds. Theoretically, this should be time spent bonding with his son, although that was a slim possibility with the Fowl.

Angeline fussed over her son, cooing at him in the large manservant's arms.

"Can you say 'Mummy', Arty? Say 'Mummy'. Come on, darling…"

Her son remained stoically silent, looking as his mother almost incredulously.

"Alright then, Major," Angeline said finally, turning from the baby who had yet to utter a word in his short life. "I'm ready to depart now. Shall we?"

"Certainly, ma'am," The Major said curtly, as though affirming that he was ready to engage in a battle with a sworn enemy.

"Right," she said again, as though assuring herself. "Then let's go."

She strode purposefully across the grand foyer.

Seeing that his mother was departing, clearly without an order in place for his following her, the baby immediately began to wail as though his small world was ending and his father's eyes consequently widened in horror. His brain ordered his hands to cover his ears, but common sense thankfully prevailed. His wife would almost certainly have objected to that course of action.

"Oh hush, hush Arty, what is it darling?" Angeline said, immediately trotting back up the stairs and smoothing his dark, downy hair from his brow. "Do you want Mummy to stay? Oh - can you say 'Mummy stay'?"

"Missus Fowl, I'm sure he'll be fine," said The Major firmly, not happy that they were already running behind his carefully calculated schedule. "It'll do the boy good to spend a little time with his father."

Angeline sighed, but she stepped away reluctantly. "Alright, yes… Yes, I know. But… I do worry…"

"Of course you do, dear. It's only natural," Artemis said, eyes still showing an excessive amount of white as he silently pleaded with his bodyguard, who point-blank ignored him. "But we'll be… fine. Perfectly fine."

"You will," confirmed the elder Butler.

And before either verbally-communicative Fowl could voice an opposing opinion, The Major closed the reinforced door of the Bentley and made his way round to the driver's side with a curt nod to his charge and nephew as a form of goodbye.

The engine started up and one of the rear windows buzzed down.

"Oh, and do keep an ear out for him saying anything," called Angeline. "Seven months is the ideal age for a baby's first words according to…"

But Artemis Junior was screaming so loudly by then that it was impossible to hear who had claimed the statement as fact. And in any case, the Bentley had purred into motion and glided down the driveway, away and out of sight from where the three figures stood, before anyone could ask her to repeat herself.

The car was barely out of the gates before Artemis Senior had stormed back up the Manor steps.

"For heaven's sake, shut him up!" he ordered the remaining bodyguard.

Butler swiftly obliged, tucking the baby into the crook of his elbow as his mother had taught him to do with Juliet. Good job she had, since the lesson had been missing from Madame Ko's curriculum and he had had rather a lot of use for it in the past few months. He hushed the baby automatically, bouncing him slightly as he followed his uncle's charge back up the steps to the manor door, simultaneously checking for possible threats to security as he did so.

Baby Artemis quietened, perhaps comforted by the fact that although his mother seemed to have callously abandoned him, the big one who sometimes looked after him was still around. The doors to the manor closed behind them, trapping all three males in for their day of 'paternal-offspring bonding, plus one'.

"How the hell do you do that?" Artemis Fowl Senior demanded after a few moments of silence.

"Do what, sir?" Butler asked, although he had a fair idea of what the man was talking about.

"You know. Quiet him. Hush him. Whatever it is you do to make him stop making that din."

"Err... well… I just sort of… hold him, sir."

"Well, why won't he do it for me?"

Butler didn't have an answer for that, nor did he think it would be a good idea to provide one. Artemis was intelligent enough to work out for himself that the baby didn't like being held by someone he didn't know very well.

"Sod it then," Artemis Senior threw up his hands in defeat. "I'll do what Angeline suggests and spend more time with him. He is the heir to the Fowl Empire, after all. I might as well start him on the right track now."

"Good for you, sir," Butler said, thinking that this probably wasn't going to end well.

"Right… well, then… hand him to me."

Butler shuffled his charge into both hands and held him out 'The Lion King' style. Artemis Junior hiccupped, his bright blue eyes shining as he locked gazes with the similar pair looking right back at him.

Artemis the Senior swallowed firmly and reached out his arms.

Butler wondered when, if ever, the time would be to entirely relinquish his grip on his charge. After all, he was supposed to protect the boy, even if that meant from his own father. Or rather from the hall tiles of the manor floor should the man accidentally drop him.

Fortunately, for everyone involved, before the boy's father could get a proper grip, a shrill ringing broke the somewhat tense silence.

Artemis Senior stepped back, licking his lips before speaking almost nervously. "I'll... I'll just get this."

Butler nodded, returning Little Artemis to his 'holstered' position.

_You do that, sir_, he thought, secretly more than a little relieved that his highly-trained ears would be spared from his charge's high-pitched screaming for a few moments more.

"Yes, this is Fowl," the crime lord said into the phone, his voice cold and confident once more.

Butler shook his head slightly in disbelief as the man turned to pace away from him, as was his custom when taking a phone call. His employer might as well be schizophrenic for all the similarities between his different 'modes'.

The bodyguard looked down and wondered whether, at some point in the not-so-distant future, the small bundle would ever become like his father. After all, The Major must have had a similar thought at some point, and looking at how his charge had turned out…

Butler shook his head again, this time in disbelief with himself. Here he was hoping the kid wasn't going to turn out exactly like his father and the boy hadn't even started to speak yet. Speaking of which…

"You know you should be talking already, young sir," he murmured softly. "Your mother is starting to worry. Of course, she doesn't need much of an excuse to worry. But still…"

The baby chuckled at him as though it had an ulterior motive for not speaking.

"I've made tougher guys than you talk in the past," Butler whispered to him mock-threateningly, before standing silent and professional once more as his employer reached the wall of the hall and spun on one foot to continue his pacing.

"You think you can blackmail me?" Artemis Senior chuckled lowly.

Butler wondered briefly exactly what life-threatening situation his uncle's charge was about to plunge them all into, speaking as he was to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

His own charge gurgled in his arms and Butler hushed him, moving away through the open doors of a nearby parlour lest his father complain at the noise.

"B…bla…bla…"

The seven-month-old was stammering baby noises and Butler fought to keep himself from smiling. Madam Fowl definitely worried too much. Juliet hadn't said her first word until she was nearly a year old. Now they couldn't shut her up if they tried.

"Blackmail? Really?" Artemis Senior continued from the hall, somewhat incredulously. "You would sink so low? And what, pray tell, do you suppose you have to blackmail me with? Don't be so pathetic …"

"Bla…bla..bla…may…"

Artemis Fowl Senior cut the call and walked through to his son and bodyguard, still muttering. "Thinks he can blackmail me... _Me_, Butler. _Me_."

"Bla…bla'may…"

Butler didn't really know what to say to that, so he just nodded silently in agreement.

"Bla… blaggmay…"

"Blackmail, indeed…"

"Blagmayul."

"Exactly," Artemis grumbled. "Right. Where were we?"

"Blagmail. Bla-kuh-mail. Blackmail."

"No, no, before that. And why are you repeating yourself? Christ, Butler; has looking after a small child addled your brain?"

"Uh… sir…" Butler said, gesturing at the 'small child' in his arms and wondering whether or not to be insulted that his employer had mistaken a child's voice for his own deep rumble.

"Blackmail," said little Artemis happily. "Blackmail, blackmail, blackmail!"

Artemis Senior's mouth fell open as he stared at his young son, aghast.

"Oh…" he tailed off, not wanting his son to pick up any more unsavoury words today.

"My thoughts exactly, sir," Butler said a little grimly.

"Blackmail!" chirped Artemis Junior.

"Now listen here," said Artemis Senior, stalking quickly towards his son. "We shall have no more of that, young man. Do you hear me?"

The baby giggled. "Blackmail."

"Oh for Heaven's–!" The Fowl patriarch turned on the younger man. "Butler, do something!"

_Me?_ thought Butler, with a mental eyebrow-raise. _How am I even remotely involved in this? Oh wait… because I'm 'The Butler'.  
_  
The bodyguard sighed and pivoted away, placing the youngest Fowl neatly in an armchair besides the hearth.

"Now," he said mock-seriously, tuttying down to the baby's eye level. "Say, 'mum'. Artemis? Say 'mum'."

Artemis just gnawed on an already spit-soaked fist.

"'Mum'. Say '_mum'_."

Butler pushed his arms down gently and the baby whined.

"Muh-um. Say 'mum'."

"Muuu…"

"'_Mum'_, Artemis. '_Mum'_."

"Muuuh… Muu…"

"That's it!" hissed Artemis Senior, leaning closer in hopeful excitement. "He's nearly got it. He's nearly–"

Then the baby's blue eyes widened at this new addition to his personal space.

"Blackmail!" he screeched.

"Might want to back up a little, sir," said Butler, knowing the proximity of his uncle's charge without looking back over his shoulder.

"Why on ea–?"

"_Blackmail_!" his son yowled again.

Artemis Senior swore under his breath but moved away, still muttering.

"Fine. _Fine_. I'll leave you well alone, you little…"

"There we are," whispered Butler, hearing his employer clack away back into the hall. "Just you and me now, little man. You going to be good for me, Artemis? Are you going to show me how clever you are?"

The baby smiled coyly and squirmed.

"Mu-mu-mu."

"That's it. '_Mum'_. Where's your mummy, eh? She's out with my Uncle isn't she? Best of luck to the both of them. Now come on, say it again. Muh-um."

Artemis laughed, clapping his little hands together clumsily.

"Muuuu! Muuuhhhuuu!"

"No, Artemis," Butler said calmly, breathing deeply through his nose. "That's what cows do. What do cows do, Artemis? Cows go…"

"Muuuu."

Butler smiled to himself. He was still holding the little boy's arms, allowing them to bounce whilst still keeping him upright. It was actually one of the rare occasions he'd been left alone with him; up until now, either a nanny or Angeline had been present in the room. He'd never had a chance to notice before just how spectacular his charge's eyes were. Just how intelligent the gaze was that beamed out from those blue orbs. The damn kid was playing them all. Butler was sure of it.

The bodyguard was snapped out of his musings by a sharp clattering and the grunting of someone carrying, or rather dragging, a cumbersome object.

"I have brought," huffed Artemis Senior, lurching into the parlour, "some assistance."

Butler reversed the baby until his back was supported by the chair's cushion and then rose to help before the Fowl managed to spear himself, or some other expensive object, with the awry legs of…

"A flipchart, sir?"

"Yes," confirmed the elder, snapping out the frame's metal legs properly and steadying it. "Perhaps with some visual stimuli we may have more success."

He gave a brief huff, and then tossed back the first sheet of paper.

"Now then. Artemis?"

The baby froze in his attempt to put his foot in his mouth. Artemis Senior pressed the button on his retractable pointer, which shot out with a small crack, and slapped it against a large, blown-up photo of Angeline.

Where the man had obtained the image, Butler had no idea.

"This is your mother. Moth-er, Artemis. Now…"

"Sir–?"

"What?"

Butler scratched his head. "Well, I was thinking perhaps we might stick to words of one syllable–"

"Butler," Artemis Senior said, scowling. "If he can say _black_-_mail_, he can say _moth-er_."

"Of course, sir."

"Now hold him or something. I want to be sure he's taking this all in."

The bodyguard scooped up the baby and sat, bone-straight, in the armchair.

"As I was saying…" Artemis Senior sighed, returning to the board. "This is your mother; the woman who gave birth to you subsequent to a nine-month gestation period. You shall know her, for the rest of your foreseeable lifetime, as… mother."

The baby had tilted its head back, attempting to clap Butler's chin between two squidgy palms. His arms were far too short and so he contented himself with pulling on the man's tie, the knot growing ever tighter by the second. Butler stared straight ahead, his gaze never wavering from the 'lesson'.

"The word 'mother'," continued Artemis Senior without concern, "originates from the Early Old English word 'mater', which then made its way into Latin, again as 'mater', into Late Old English, 'modres', then seen again in the thirteenth century as 'moderr', changing again to 'moder', to 'modyre', until finally, in 1526, we reach the modern spelling of 'mother'."

_Well thank Christ for that_, thought Butler drily_. I was under the assumption that this presentation was going to be completely pointless._

"Muuu,"said Artemis, dribbling slightly.

His father froze, ears pricking hopefully for the next syllable. But his son merely blew some approximation of a raspberry and so, carding a hand through his neat hair, Artemis Senior flipped to the next sheet.

"Now, for the phonics. 'Mother', spelt phonetically, looks like this–"

"Blackmail," moaned Artemis, struggling in his bodyguard's grasp. "_Blackmail_."

His father ignored him. "Read as 'm', as in 'mine', the main stress being on the first consonant. Then 'ʌ' as in the 'u' in 'butter', or 'upset'. 'ð' then or the 'th' sound–"

"_Blackmail_," insisted the baby.

Artemis Senior took a thin breath through his nose. "The 'ə', as in the 'a' and 'e' in 'another'–"

"Blackmail!"

"Yes, God dammit! I heard you the first five dozen times!"

The Fowl patriarch slammed a hand onto the board which immediately toppled over, crashing to the floor and sending loose paper scattering over the carpet.

There was a moment of silence. Nothing in the room stirred. Even the fire in the grate had ceased its spitting.

Then Artemis Junior released a thin, miserable wail that was amplified by the high-ceilinged room. Artemis Senior threw up his hands, dashed his pointer to the floor, and stalked out of the room, clearly fuming.

Butler immediately moved into action. He knew the drill by now. Although the first few times his charge had started up such a noise it had been almost alarming for a bodyguard familiar, mostly, with the gruff screams of grown men (usually caused by himself, but that was another issue altogether).

"Hush now," he murmured, pulling the baby round and tucking its head under his chin. "What's all this noise, hmm? I've got you, Artemis. I'm here."

The baby sobbed into his shirt, his face a red prune of despair.

"Hey, hey, hush now. Shall we go for a walk around the room? A brief promenade, young sir? I think we should…"

He hoisted the baby up as easily as a bag of sugar, bracing him against a broad shoulder so the boy could still see around him. The Fowl heir immediately stopped crying, startled by the sudden change in height – but not afraid. The big one hadn't dropped him yet.

"That's better," murmured Butler with no little relief. "Right, let's go over here shall we? What do cows says, Artemis?"

"Muuuu."

"Clever boy!"

"Muu… Mu-mu-mu."

"'Mum'. Come on, say 'mum'. I know you can do it, young man."

The baby sniffed and then jerked out an arm, pointing stubby fingers at the fallen picture of Angeline.

"Mum," he said simply.

Butler's eyes widened, dismounting the baby from his shoulder and giving him a rare Butler-smile. "Yes! Yes, Artemis! _Clever boy!_"

"Mum," he repeated, with an almost toothless grin. "Mum! Mum!"

Artemis Senior appeared in the doorway, scuffing his shoe on the carpet in an amusingly similar fashion to a scolded child. "I'm sorry, Butler, old boy, I don't know what came over–"

"Blackmail!" squealed his son upon spotting him. "Blackmail! Blackmail!"

"No," said Butler hurriedly, as Artemis Senior's face fell. He pointed to Angeline's picture again. "Who's that, Artemis? Who's that?"

But the little boy was scowling heavily, his wide eyes fixed to Artemis Senior.

"Blackmail," he said, with a strange, unwavering finality.

His father shoulders slumped, his face crestfallen.

"I don't know what to do," he said simply. "Is that just going to be what I'm known as from now on? By my only son?"

Butler avoided his eyes, trying again.

"Artemis," he said gently. "That's your dad. Can you say 'dad'?"

"Blackmail."

Strangely, Artemis the elder suddenly clapped his hands together once and exited the room at a quick march.

"Dad," repeated Butler.

"Black. Mail."

The bodyguard suppressed a scowl. There was a certain stubbornness now present in his charge's infant expression, and, although he didn't know it yet, that expression was soon to become very familiar.

The clacking of shoes reached their ears once again and Artemis Senior poked his head around the doorway.

"Butler, could I trouble you for a moment?"

"But, sir…"

"Just here by the door, man!" the Fowl snapped exasperatedly. "Unless my son spontaneously achieves flight, he won't be going anywhere soon."

Butler settled his charge firmly on the armchair and stepped away, cautiously, towards the door.

_Four steps:_ _I could cover that distance in under a second_, he assured himself.

"Right," said Artemis Senior, who had apparently regrouped and founded a new plan of attack. "I have an idea. Just play along."

Butler considered what Artemis Senior holding, on which was laid out a dissected, orange fruit.

"Of course, sir."

"It's simple. Standard trading. Positive reinforcement, you might say."

"Of course, sir," the Butler repeated, craning his head back around the door to check that his charge was still perched safely on his armchair.

"Now I'm going to need you to… act."

"Act, sir?"

"Yes. You know, dramatics and whatnot."

Butler stayed silent.

"Just… follow my lead," Artemis muttered and Butler raised an eyebrow as his employer swept past, bearing aloft the silver platter.

"Here, Arty," Artemis Senior said excitedly. "I've got a segment of satsuma orange here for you."

_Ah well, might as well go all out_, Butler thought, silently praying his uncle never heard of this incident.

"Oooh," he cooed, all enthusiasm. "Not a _satsuma segment_."

"Yes, a satsuma segment!" the elder Fowl gasped theatrically. "And we all know who likes _satsuma segments_now, don't we?"

The baby was smiling hesitantly, his hands half raised, outstretched to the bait.

"That's my boy. Here it comes…"

Artemis Junior opened his pink mouth and in popped the fruit. He gummed it gratefully, half the juice dribbling down his chin.

Then Artemis Senior tested his theory.

"Arty," he said, pointing. "Who's that?"

The baby looked down at the picture of his mother.

"Mum."

"Yes!" cried Artemis Senior, apparently letting the one-syllable thing go. "Yes, Arty! And I? Who am I?"

He pressed his fingers to his chest.

"Dad."

"Yes! Ooh! I could _kiss_you!"

The baby giggled, but remained untouched.

For some minutes this continued: a simple formula of satsuma, desired word, satsuma, desired word…

At least until they ran out of segments.

"Right then, my little Arty. Let's go through it once more, and then you can show your mother when she gets home. She's going to be so pleased with you, my boy!" Artemis Senior prattled on, relief clear on his features. "Now, who am I?"

The little Artemis outstretched his hand expectantly... and blinked when no orange segment appeared in it.

"No, no, all gone now. All gone." His father displayed his empty palms and the equally vacant tray. "Now. Who am I, son?"

Artemis Junior's face crumpled, his bottom lip protruding slightly.

His father's grin froze, one hand still expectantly waving his son on to continue, before...

"Blackmail," Artemis said flatly.

Artemis Senior spluttered. "P-pardon?"

"Blackmail!" Artemis Junior screeched.

_Oh heck_, thought Butler (or words to that effect).

"For the love of Pete, child!" wailed Artemis Senior. "I have no more satsuma! Just do as you're damn-well _told_!"

"Blackmaaaiiilll," Artemis cried, with equal misery. "Blackmail, blackmail, _blackmail_!"

"Didn't you have a plan, sir?" Butler interjected quickly as he hoisted his charge from the armchair once more and began to bounce him almost frantically.

Artemis Senior's head was in his hands. "I don't know what else he likes!" he bemoaned. "Satsuma segments were my ace in the hole!"

"Perhaps I could help there, sir?" Butler asked.

By the look on the elder man's face, he was half a minute away from having to deal with two bawling Artemis Fowls and nobody, no matter how trained they were, could ever be considered competent enough to ably cope with that.

"Yes!" The man's gaze snapped up again. "Yes! Please do! Tell me anything he likes. Anything at all!"

"Well…" Butler thought rapidly. "He does rather enjoy nursery rhymes. And then there's puppet shows. Oh and…"

"Wait, wait!" Artemis Senior scrabbled to pull a pen and pad from his jacket pocket, starting to make a list. "Alright, continue. Singing, puppet shows….What else?"

"Erm…"

And so, for the next few minutes, the bodyguard rattled off anything from something that had managed to shut his charge up, soothe him to sleep, or simply make him smile in the past few months.

"Right," Artemis Senior said firmly, finishing the list with a stabbed dot at the bottom of the page. "You, my boy," he fixed his son with a determined stare, "are going to consistently refer to your parents by name if it _kills_ me."

The baby glared right back, as though daring his father to follow through with his threat.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

Several hours later, there was very little the Fowl and the Butler had not tried in their attempts to cajole the baby into reliably and coherently enunciating the words 'Mum' or 'Dad' on command. No matter what rattles they shook, or how many satsumas they unpeeled; how many times they chanted, yodelled, danced, monologued, mimed, play-fought or rapped; whether they serenaded him in duo or as separate soloists; whether they rocked him, threw him, cradled him or dandled him; watched _Postman Pat_ or _Citizen Kane_ (Artemis Senior's choice) with him; whether Butler played 'Punch' or Artemis played 'Judy'; used sock puppets or their own, painted, hands for him … as soon as they stopped, the little Artemis would abandon all verbal co-operation and sit back, giggling, and say:

"Blackmail."

Artemis Senior collapsed against the sofa cushions.

"Well, that's everything on the list," he said dejectedly. "I honestly don't know what else to do."

Butler looked glumly at his charge sat on the play mat chewing on a plastic Einstein and burbling 'blackmail' over and over to himself. He couldn't help thinking that the plan of positively reinforcing the child's behaviour had somewhat backfired. Little Artemis was clearly training them, rather than the other way around.

_If this is a sign of things to come_, he thought, _I may have something a little more than the average Fowl on my hands._

The baby took the Einstein out of his mouth and hit it a few times against the floor.

"Buh… Buh…" he gargled. "Buh…"

_Worrying_… Butler's eyes narrowed, _but not… unexciting_.

Guilt suddenly washed over him and he focused sharply back on his uncle's charge.

"Cheer up, sir," he suggested, knuckling the man's shoulder lightly. "There's always the chance that he'll _not_ say it in front of his mother."

Artemis Senior frowned, and Butler thought that maybe he had taken unkindly to the friendly nudge. Then again, the crime lord had, minutes before, been sat on the floor with his employee performing a rendition of 'Row, row, row your boat' complete with joint actions, in-the-round vocals, and little Artemis sat, burbling, between them, so it would be slightly hypersensitive if that small breach of professionalism was what was causing the pained expression.

"Wait a second," said the elder man, hope suddenly dawning across his face. "There is something else. One more thing that we could try…"

Butler tried to remain optimistic that it was something less embarrassing than putting on a ridiculous voice and animating a sock puppet on his hand. His uncle was going to have a field-day with the security footage as it was. And, goddammit, he was _still_ not going to put on a pair of green tights and adopt a warbling falsetto as Artemis Senior had suggested to him earlier – not even for the proposed recompense of three-thousand euros and next Thursday off, would he be the Fowl Patriarch's _Peter Pan._

"I'll be right back!"

"What have you got me into this time, Artemis?" Butler asked the baby once his father had disappeared upstairs.

"Blackmail!" the baby giggled.

"Indeed."

"This is it! I've got it! The solution to our troubles, Butler!"

_Your troubles, you mean_, thought Butler, as he glanced over at what his employer was brandishing.

It was… a book.

_Thankfully not 'Peter Pan'_, Butler noted.

Baby Artemis squealed happily and clapped, stretching for the recognisable tome.

"Ah, ah, Arty," Artemis Senior admonished lightly. "Firstly, I need you to listen to what I have to say. I know you're an intelligent boy, so you are going to consider my offer carefully and with full awareness of just how decent the terms are I am offering you."

"Erm, sir?" Butler said tactfully. "I'm not sure he understands the concept of an 'offer'."

"Of course he does, Butler. Look at him. He knows exactly what I'm saying. Don't you, Arty-boy?"

The baby did indeed seem to be regarding his father actively with his blue-eyed gaze, so Butler buttoned his lip and decided to see how proceedings unfolded.

They could hardly, he reasoned, get any worse.

"Right. Here is it. I, Artemis Fowl the First, your father, shall solemnly swear to read to you, Artemis Fowl the Second, my son, this book so entitled 'The Crock of Gold' every night from this date onwards for an entire month–"

Artemis Junior gasped.

"Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad!" he shouted happily.

"– if, and I mean if," Artemis Senior continued sternly. "_If_ you promise to never say the 'b' word in front of your mother. Ever."

"Blackmail?" Artemis seemed to ask.

"Yes, that," his father told him.

The baby seemed to contemplate this for a moment… before reaching out desperately for the book.

"Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad!"

Butler felt slightly stumped.

"I think that's an agreement, sir."

"Shake on it?" Artemis Senior asked, holding his hand out to his son. The baby bashed his fist against his father's palm until the man grasped it gently, unfurled the fingers with his own, and pulled the infant's arm up and down in an approximation of a handshake.

A historic moment: Artemis Fowl the Second's first ever deal.

"Good boy," said his father, not even turning up his nose at the baby-goo that stuck to his fingers after he had released his son's. "Now, shall we begin?"

"Dad, dad, dad," Artemis said happily, gesturing to be picked up.

"Butler, would you…" Artemis Senior started, before catching himself and changing the intended end of his sentence considerably. "…hold this book for me?"

"Of course, sir," Butler nodded, hiding his smirk as his boss took a deep breath, rose to his knees, and placed two tentative hands around his son's middle. From there he lifted the baby to his chest, resting him against it as he got to his feet. Butler watched carefully, wary of the man falling or accidently dropping the baby should Artemis Junior struggled or squirm in any way. Fortunately, the boy seemed to realise the importance of the occurrences and remained entirely still throughout the proceedings.

Artemis Senior then settled himself on the sofa, tucking his son into the crook of his arm as he had seen Butler do before, and held a hand out for the book. Butler handed it to him and took a seat on the armchair by the sofa. The Fowl switched on the lamp on the table beside him, slid a pair of slim-line glasses from his pocket, donning them awkwardly with his arms full of baby and book, before settling more comfortably, flipping open the thick cover, and beginning to read.

"The Crock of Gold…" he began.

* * *

"You – get here and carry this," The Major growled at the poor, unsuspecting maid that greeted them in the main foyer upon their arrival home to the manor.

She held her arms out tentatively and he thrust one-handful of his bags at her. She promptly crumpled under the weight and besides, it was too late. Butler had already taken the wonderful mental photo of his uncle staggering under the weight of so many bags of designer clothes. It would make excellent blackmail material… Butler mentally scolded himself for even thinking the word.

"Did you have a good trip, Madame Fowl?" he asked politely, avoiding eye-contact with his uncle lest he risk bursting into hysterical laughter at the look of contempt on his face.

"Well, yes, I did, actually," replied Angeline, smiling. "Wonderful in fact. Although I think I must have bought half the store of clothing…"

_After trying it all on in different combinations and repeatedly asking 'What do you think?'_ The Major thought to himself.

"Where are my boys?" the lady of the house asked.

"Through here, ma'am," Butler gestured. "Although you might want to keep quiet, I believe the young master is taking a nap."

The sight through the doorway of the parlour managed to draw a smile even to The Major's sour face. Surrounded by a pastel-plethora of toys, blankets, and (strangely) blown-up family portraits, Artemis Fowl Senior sat slumped on the sofa, his chin on his chest, one arm wrapped protectively around his son who was also fast asleep.

"_Ohhh_," Angeline cooed, eliciting a startled response from her husband who jerked awake suddenly, in turn disturbing his son who blinked blearily and, upon spotting his mother, cried out happily.

The bargaining book slipped from the elder Artemis's hand, landing with a heavy thump and laying forgotten on the carpet – or at least for now.

"Oh. Hello, Angeline," Artemis Senior said, struggling to hold their wriggling son upright as he reached for his mother. "I was just reading to the baby…"

"With your eyes shut, so I see?" Angeline teased.

"Well I…"

"It's alright Timmy, I am only jesting." She laughed, lifting baby Artemis by his armpits and rubbing her nose against his. "It's wonderful that you two have been spending time with each other."

"Yes, quite," her husband said, rising from the sofa awkwardly.

"So, Arty," Angeline asked. "How was your day with Daddy? Did you have fun?"

Artemis Junior giggled and waved his arms, babbling nonsense. Two of the grown men in the room drew twin breaths of dread. The third frowned, sensing something was up and mentally making a reminder to check the CCTV tape footage later.

"Did you learn lots today, little one?"

"Buh, buh, buh." Artemis chuckled. "Buh, buh, buh!"

"Arty..?" asked his father in a half-warning, half-pleading tone.

"Buh, buh, buh…"

_Not the 'B' word_, prayed Butler, glancing at the elder Artemis who was clearly undergoing the same mental process. _Not the 'B' word._

"Buh, buh, buh. Buh, buh..."

_Oh God._

"Buh, buh, buh…Butler!"

The room froze.

Heat, pleasant and unprecedented, rushed to the younger bodyguard's cheeks. His uncle was staring at him, his square jaw suddenly hanging loose. Artemis Senior was gaping at his son.

"Oh my little boy!" gasped Angeline, the first to recover. "You spoke! You said your first word! You said Butler! Did you all hear him? My little boy can talk!"

"Yes, dear," said Artemis Senior, releasing a relieved sigh. "Yes, he can."

"Oh, I must make a note of this! Emilie! Emilie!" The unfortunate maid, only just recovered from her bag-induced collapse, hurried forward. "Go and fetch the baby book – we must enter this at once!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And the calligraphy pens! I must make it official!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

And Angeline practically ran away up the main stairway, babe in arms, still calling orders as she went.

"I think… I think I shall just go and attend to business then," said Artemis Senior, as his wife finally faded out of earshot. "Butler," he said, turning. "Thank you for your contribution today. I shan't need you for the rest of the evening. Major, if you would accompany me..." He looked at his oldest ally and his expression darkened menacingly, all traces of 'Daddy' Fowl vanishing without a trace. "I received a call earlier which I believe you would be interested to know about…"

The elder Butler's spine straightened a few millimetres. "Of course, sir."

And Artemis Senior he made for the left-hand stairway. The Major followed him, giving his nephew a sharp look as they passed.

_You'll explain what this was all about later_, it said.

Butler's face remained impassive, and soon his uncle and the eldest Fowl were up the stairs and out of sight.

_Ah well_, he thought wryly, moving to take some of the shopping bags which a second maid was struggling to lift. _What's done is done, whatever he wants to say about it._

He would just have to grit his teeth and bear the ridiculing that would certainly follow, for there was no chance of lying to his uncle. Besides, unless he was extremely sly about it, there would be no editing the security tapes to erase all evidence of the afternoon without throwing the elder Butler into a paranoia-induced panic about the missing footage. No, instead he would have the events held over him every time his uncle wanted something done… at least until the next embarrassing occurrence his charge would inevitably drop him into.

It seemed he would be hearing a lot more of the 'B' word after all.

* * *

She looked up as both man and servant entered the room.

"So you were his first word?"

Taken off-guard, his mouth already open in preparation to greet her, it took a second for the twenty-two-year-old Artemis to realise what she was talking about. The he noticed the over-laced, silk-covered binder she had been perusing whilst waiting for him and flushed a violent shade of tomato.

"Put that back this instant!"

Butler chuckled, closing the parlour door, as his grown charge lurched forward and snatched the baby book back from her.

"What?" laughed Holly. "I only saw the one page."

"Good. And that is all you _shall_ be seeing."

Holly looked at Butler, apparently bemused. "What's his tofu?"

The bodyguard sat, quelling a wince, on a low couch. "They are a few contemporary examples of late-eighties, child shower-cap modelling in that book. I think he may not wish you to see them."

Holly's eyes lit up.

"No," repeated Artemis, slotting the book back onto its proper shelf.

The elf snorted and flumped down into a chintz armchair that immediately swallowed her. "You're no fun," she said, her voice muffled from behind a cushion.

Artemis pulled it away. "I am not willing to allow you any blackmail material."

She pushed herself towards him using the chair's padded arms. "I've seen you in your pants, Arty. Remember?"

"Yes," he said, not reacting to their sudden proximity, "but never naked."

_Oh God_, thought Butler, as a somewhat charged silence descended. _Is this really going to be my afternoon?_

"Right," he said, causing both Holly and Artemis's faces to snap back to him. "Shall we get on with it then?"

"Yes," said Artemis, pushing himself firmly away from the chair. "Foaly said he'd given something to you to give to me."

Holly sat up. "Yeah, it's on my belt, one second…"

Butler's mind soon began to wander as they discussed, argued about, and eventually fought over things which he couldn't quite bring himself to be interested in. It was something to do with fairy science. And he'd heard enough about fairy science to last a life time or three.

_Maybe I should just leave them to it?_ he thought, tiredly.

_Hmm. But then God only knows what they'd do to each other. Holly would probably either kill Artemis or maim him in some way, or…_

Butler smiled.

"I'm just going to check the perimeter cameras," he said, heaving himself off the sofa and walking towards the door. "I'll be ten minutes, so try not to murder each other while I'm gone."

Both young folk made some gesture of acknowledgement, capably occupied as they were with screaming at one another.

He closed the parlour door softly behind him.

Ten minutes later, and he had the footage in hand. It was almost twenty-two years to the day that Artemis had said his first word. But, as Butler slotted the disk into his own computer, reviewing the short video of Holly and Artemis engaged, for once, in something not involving conflict, he thought back on how much things had changed.

"_Buh… Buh…_" cooed a baby in his mind.

"Butler?" said a voice from behind him.

He turned to see a grey-haired Artemis Senior framed in the door to the kitchen.

"Are you alright, old chap?" asked the man, lines creasing in the corners of his eyes. "You seemed far away."

"Hmm," nodded Butler, closing the lid of the computer. "I was."

"Where's my son got to? I've been looking all over for him."

Butler swallowed another grin.

It was going to take an awful lot more than satsuma segments and storybook tales to make him give up _this_ blackmail.

* * *

**So, what did you all think? :)**

**P.S. Shout out to all artists out there! I'd _love_ for someone to design a cover picture for this set of stories (as I can't draw for toffee)! If you're interested, give me a PM! :D**


	17. Graaaagh

**When dissertation stress meets lunacy. I should not be allowed near a keyboard.**

* * *

Graaaaagh.

It had been five days since Artemis had been resurrected on the grounds of Fowl Manor. His recovery had been slow, worryingly so. Foaly and Holly had left three days ago, leaving Butler to fret and cope on his own with strict instructions to call the centaur if Artemis's condition took a turn for the worse. So far, apart from a heavy cold and not being able to remember 87% of his life, Butler had found no reason to make such a call.

He entered the bedroom slowly with a tea tray balanced between massive, shovel-like hands.

"Artemis?"

There was a slight stirring in the depths of the bed.

"Artemis? How are you feeling today?"

The covers were flipped back to reveal Artemis fully-dressed in shirt, tie and pencil skirt.

"Androgynous," replied the teenager.

* * *

"Right," said Holly, "on a scale of one to ten, one being 'making a cup of tea' and ten being 'kidnapping a fairy', how bat-shit is this plan going to be?"

Artemis carefully lifted the sloth by the armpits.

"One hundred and seven."

* * *

"But dying…" Holly frowned. "What… what was that like? I mean, I can't… I can't remember much from Hybras, I was back so quickly it was like nothing had ever happened…"

Artemis shifted, apparently uncomfortable.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she whispered.

He stared at the carpet.

"At first…" he murmured. "I was afraid." He gave a short, humourless laugh. "I was petrified."

Holly reached out and took his hand in hers.

"Thinking I could never live without you… by my side."

A hairy, beetle-eyed face popped around the door to the room.

"_But then I spent so many nights, thinking how you did me wrong!"_

"Mulch!" shouted Holly. "Could you get out, please?"

The head retreated.

"Sorry, Artemis, you were saying…"

He swallowed, regaining his composure.

"And I grew strong," he said, "and I learned how to get along…"

Holly smiled. "And now you're back."

"From outer space," he joked.

"_I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face!_"

"MULCH!"

* * *

"Butler."

"A-hmm."

"Would you… Would you mind looking at something for me?"

"Have you broken the toastie machine again?"

"No, it's–"

"Where's the kettle?"

"The kettle is fine. Please, Butler, would you just come with me a moment?"

"Will I need my tool kit?"

"No."

"The defibrillator?"

"_No._"

"Where are your brothers?"

"I haven't the foggiest. Butler, just–"

"Alright, lead the way."

"Right. Thank you. I only want us to go in here…"

"The bathroom?"

"Yes. Just… there. Alright. Close the door. Right. I wish you to look at… well…Does this look normal to you?"

"Christ– Okay. Could maybe have _warned_ me, Artemis."

"I need your opinion."

"It's fine."

"You didn't even _look_."

"I think you'd be better off calling for a doctor– And, whoa, there it is again."

"It's _orange._"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

"Foaly informed me that the only thing wrong with this body was my sixth toe, but this, I believe, is firm evidence as to otherwise."

And so, over the following months, Artemis transformed into a beautiful lizard.

* * *

"He's living in Scotland," said Mulch gently. "He's got a job at a boarding school there, a teacher I think. He works a lot with animals."

Butler reached out and stroked the photo of the kindly-eyed, immensely hairy giant on the paper before him.

"Is he happy?"

"I think so."

"Married?"

"Engaged."

The bodyguard put a hand to his mouth and held back tears.

"Do you ever…" he croaked, after taking a moment to control himself. "Do you ever think what would have been if we had kept him?"

Mulch laid a hand on Butler's arm.

"We gave him the chance of a better life."

The bodyguard nodded.

"Oh, Rubeus," he whispered, putting the photograph down.

* * *

**Yes, Hagrid is their love child (height, hairiness and magic? Who was JK trying to fool?).**


	18. Cora 03

**Warning: Angst like whoa! But first, Arty at the beach :)**

* * *

Cora 0.3

_Artemis, as per usual, was doing an excellent job of sulking._

_"Really?" said Butler, dropping the Fowl beach-bag-come-general-life-supplies-sack onto his chosen patch of sand. "You're really going to keep that face up all day?"_

_"It is thirty-five degrees centigrade," snapped Artemis, pulling open a deck chair. "I am slathered in when I can only describe as scented snake milk–"_

_"You know it's the only sun cream that works."_

_"–and am about to spend the day saton a rural beach without the faintest hint of nearby plumbing or refreshment facilities. What is there about this situation to possibly merit a change in facial expression?"_

_The four-year-old Corawas stood on the picnic blanket, rubbing an additional layer of sun-cream onto her freckled arms. She had already kicked off her sandals to some place Artemis knew not and stripped down to her scarlet bathing suit. Plucking a pair of plastic, heart-shaped sunglasses from the front of her costume she gave a faint sigh, pushed them up onto her nose, and turned to her father._

_"Which way to the bar?"_

_Butler forced down a grin._

_"There is no bar," replied Artemis. "This is Cork, not St Lucia."_

_"There is no bar?"_

_"Tell me about it."_

_"I've got juice in here if you want it," said Butler, pulling The Bag towards him. "What do you fancy? I've got pineapple, orange, mango, grape, pear, lychee, banana, grapefruit, plum, apricot, melon, cherry, raspberry, gooseberry, blackberry, coconut or fig."_

_"Do you have pomegranate?"_

_"No."_

_The four-year-old's nose wrinkled._

_"I think I'll leave it then."_

_Butler re-zipped the bag._

_"I'll take a banana," said Artemis, pulling out his own sunglasses._

_Butler unzipped the bag again._

_"What a nice spot!" called a voice to Artemis's left and suddenly there was another deckchair plopped down on the blanket next to his. "You've got good taste in beach settlements, right enough!"_

_Artemis looked distastefully up at the large woman now beaming down at him._

_"I'm Agatha," she said, throwing herself into the new chair and sticking out a podgy hand for him to shake, "Tilly's mum. I think your Cora is one of her best friends at school!"_

_This seemed to be correct as Cora was now being merrily assaulted by a mass of blonde curls in pink and purple lycra and didn't seem to be getting too upset about it. Butler leant over his ex-charge and took the hand that looked likely not to be taken._

_"Nice to meet you, Agatha," he said. "I'm Domovoi."_

_"Domovoi! That's such a lovely name."_

_"Thank you."_

_"I've always hated mine," she babbled. "Always makes me think of grannies and old crime novels! I always said to my mam, why couldn't you have called me Susan or something normal? People constantly make jokes to me about murder on the Orient Express!" She sighed and wriggled deeper into her chair before taking another deep breath. "Though I suppose you can't have had an easy childhood, Mister Fowl. Artemis. My, my. Now why would your Da have done that to you after a lifetime of trouble himself? My mam was telling me all about it just the other day, about how they used to call him–"_

_"Cora!" yelled Artemis. "Do not go in that sea!"_

_"I haven't!" screamed the five-year-old from forty metres off._

_Butler winced._

_Agatha straightened her sun hat and adjusted the skirt of her maxi dress to better cover her thick, freckled shins._

_"Don't they grow up fast?" she said fondly, watching her daughter being dragged across the sand by her red-headed companion. "One minute they're on the tit, and the next!" She gave an exhausted laugh. "Though I suppose you wouldn't know much about the tit part, would you, eh?" She knocked Artemis genially with her elbow._

_"No," replied the twenty-six-year old, "I indeed did not breastfeed my daughter."_

_Butler forced a laugh and gave Artemis a sharp elbow of his own. Needless to say, it left a bit more of an impression than Agatha's had._

_"Aw, look at them," said Agatha as the Fowl heir wheezed and hugged his side, "they're playing together so nicely."_

_Tilly was now on her knees, digging into the beach with a little pink shovel the size of her forearm. Cora was stood a little way off, gesticulating widely and drawing construction patterns with her own purple spade._

_"They'll be hungry in a bit," observed Agatha, "Tilly will want to come and get her mid-morning bic-bic."_

_"Her what?" gasped Artemis despite the pain in his ribs._

_Here we go, thought Butler._

_"Her bic-bic," repeated Agatha brightly. "Tilly always has a bic-bic, every day, ten o'clock sharp."_

_"A biscuit?"_

_"Hmm, a bic-bic."_

_"There is no such thing as a bic-bic."_

_"Artemis," warned Butler._

_"We just say it for her sake," said Agatha dismissively, waving a hand. "She struggled with her words as a baby so we just simplified a few."_

_Artemis snorted. "Meaning that she shall now have to learn twice as many terms as she would have had to anyway thus exacerbating her problem, and has had to spend the first five years of her life speaking like a cretin!"_

_Butler resisted the urge to slap his hand to his forehead. Agatha, on the other hand, seemed unfazed._

_"She knows a moo-moo moos, that an oink-oink oinks."_

_"What?"_

_"It's teaching her."_

_"No," said Artemis, actually sitting up in his deckchair. "It is mentally delaying her. A child should be taught the proper names for things from day one – there is no logical reason not to."_

_"No logical reason?" repeated Agatha._

_"No."_

_"I can think of a fair few, myself."_

_"Oh, really?"_

_Butler was about to interrupt what was clearly turning into a verbal fist-fight when Cora's shrill voice rang out across the beach._

_"Daddy!" she was screaming. "Daddy!"_

_Artemis's attention was instantly diverted._

_"Cora?" he yelled, already half-way out of his chair. "What is it? Are you alright?"_

_"Tilly has sand in her vagina!"_

_"You see," said Agatha smartly. "We call it a 'twinky' in our house. Much nicer..."_

* * *

Artemis stared straight ahead at the doors of the elevator. Cora was squirming, fussing in his arms, babbling nonsense and playing with her fingers. He paid her no heed. Butler was stood directly behind him, his expression serious, a pastel carry-all hanging off one shoulder and Cora's folded pram gripped in his fist.

"_Floor twenty-nine,_" said a flat, mechanical voice as the lift came to a halt.

Both humans stepped out, accompanied by their armed escort of LEP officers. Artemis switched the toddler from his right shoulder to his left. The corridor was short, strip-lighted, and they didn't have to walk far too reach the meeting room.

"_Cora,_" gasped a voice as they entered.

Then the two-year-old was snatched out of Artemis's arms and wrapped in her mother's.

"Oh my gods," whispered Holly, closing her eyes and clutching her daughter to her chest. "Oh my gods. Oh my gods."

"_Mama_," gasped Cora, burying her face in the groove at her mother's bony collarbone.

Holly rocked her still.

"She's so much bigger," she said to Artemis, opening wide hazel eyes to stare up at her husband.

Artemis met her gaze steadily. "She has grown."

Holly closed her eyes again.

Then there was a pointed cough from the far corner of the room and both husband and wife were reminded that they weren't alone.

At least a dozen fairies were sat at the long, thin table that dominated the majority of the room. All were wearing official robes and all were poe-faced. Grim. A few random others were sat, scattered around the outside of the room, more casually dressed that the council people but equally serious. Some of them Artemis recognised; some of them he did not.

"If you wouldn't mind taking a seat," said a grey-haired pixie from the very far end of the table, "we would all like to make a start."

Butler stepped forward. Holly swallowed, and passed her child slowly, carefully, into the arms of her Godfather.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as he baby was lifted away from her, "I'm so sorry."

Cora grumbled. "No! I don't _want_ you Dommy! I want _Mama_. _No!_"

"Hush now..."

Artemis watched her as she unsteadily took the seat opposite him, hiding her shaking hands beneath the back glass of the surface top. She did not look at him.

The head pixie heaved a sigh. "Right. Well. We all know why we are here today. We are here to discuss the fate of that young Mud Lady over there, who, I must admit, I did_ not _know would be present in this meeting room."

"I am currently a single parent," said Artemis, "day care is hard to organise at such short notice."

"Hmm. Apparently so."

"_Mama!_"

Butler ducked his head and hushed Cora whilst still trying to look threatening and offensive. Somehow he made it work.

"You must all be aware," continued the pixie grimly, "that whatever goes on in this room is in place of an official, public hearing. The discussion here has legal weighting, and the decision made as a result of it will be legally _binding_. Do all present understand?"

There was a brief murmuring of 'aye's.

"Aye," said Holly.

"Aye," said Artemis.

"Good. Then we may proceed."

"I want _Mama!_" cried Cora.

Butler turned his back on the table, crouching down to open the carry bag. He found a sippy cup and coaxed it between her teeth.

"This council's worries have already been made clear in the opening hearings. We believe that the present situation of the child growing up on the surface in possession of _magic_ is a risky one. It risks the almost certain exposure of our people. All that we have strived to keep hidden from the humans for over two millennia could be laid bare at any moment."

"She is a child," said Artemis levelly. "At the moment she lacks self-control, obviously. But do not forget that she is human. She shall be fully grown in less than two decades and mentally matured in far less than that, if my genes have any say in the matter. She shall keep her and your secret safe, just as I have for the last fifteen years."

"We have no sure guarantee of that," rasped a wrinkled elf three seats to his left.

"You have no guarantee that I or Butler shall forever keep your secrets, and yet here I am."

The head pixie sighed. "That situation could be remedied at any time. We could wipe you both now and drop you in the deepest Sahara with nothing in your heads but the urge to join the Bedouin, but _she, _however, has magic."

"Which you cannot remove," said Artemis sharply. "There is no method you could set upon that would not conflict directly with Book law. You cannot injure her, even slightly, to drain her magic as that would be violence against an innocent. And since, as a magically-born human, she is not subject to the constraints of your religion, you cannot simply ask me to assist her in breaking enough of your tenets to have her magic removed in that way. The only way is for Cora to _ask _for her magic to be removed at a formal ritual ceremony, and that must be done willingly and with full, mature, grasp of the senses."

A fat pixie to Holly's left smirked. "Which is why we think we've come up with the best alternative."

Artemis sighed. "Do tell."

"We keep her underground, in a secure facility, until expiration."

"Expiration?"

"She'll be looked after here in Haven. She'll be educated here, live as full a life as possible, but be kept from society at large. Visitations from Major Short would be permitted."

"And from myself?"

"We have proposed that you undergo another mind wipe," said a pinch-faced gnome sat to the right of the head pixie, "drop you in that aforementioned desert and be done with it."

There was a low grumble from the corner and several of the LEP guards turned their neutrino barrels to point at Butler.

"I had expected you to suggest her underground confinement," said Artemis quietly, "for a time. But not something as inhumane as separating her almost completely from her family."

The head pixie gave him a sad smile. "But we are not human, Artemis Fowl."

Cora wriggled in Butler's tautened grip.

"_Mama!"_

"No."

All eyes shot towards Holly. She had lifted her head from staring at the table top.

"Major Short?"

"I said _no_. She _must _stay on the surface."

"Major Short, she is a risk to–"

"We are all a _risk_," snapped the elf. "Every one of us could expose the People at any moment. Every moon-seeker that Recon has to chase down on a Friday night, every few trolls that makes it loose up a chute, every back-street curry smuggler that takes a quick hop up to Pakistan, any Tara tourist or casual ritual maker, _anyone_. You are _not _keeping her down here because of a _risk. _She is _human_. She belongs with her _people_."

Artemis's eyes narrowed at his wife

A thickly-built elf two seats up from her cleared his throat.

"I agree," said Commander Trouble Kelp. "If she's in… in Fowl's care then she'll be safe and sound. We'll be safe. As much as I… Well, the Mud Man's turned it around. He wouldn't expose us now, and neither would he allow any of his family to do so. I believe in that."

Artemis watched the Commander glance at Holly, give her the smallest, most undetectable of nods, before looking away again.

"And as for wiping Artemis." The LEP's head technical advisor snorted, speaking up from his seat around the outskirts of the room. "I doubt you could do it. If he's broken it once, he'll do it again. And he'll just come back with a vengeance. Believe me, you _do not _want that."

Artemis turned his head towards Foaly, but, once again, found himself staring at a turned cheek.

"Then what would you suggest?" asked the council leader.

"A continuation of the status quo," said Holly. "The child stays on the surface with her father and grows up there. When she's old enough, she'll… she'll be told about her magic–"

"But what about where it _comes_ _from_?" demanded the pinch-faced gnome. "What will it know of its _heritage_?"

"It can know nothing!" trilled an incredulous sprite near the head of the table. "Dear gods! The child, if allowed to remain on the surface, can never be allowed to _know _what its mother was!"

It was Artemis's turn to appear incredulous. "But of course she must," he said. "Holly is her _mother._ Cora is _half fairy. _ How could I ever explain to her what she is _without _the People? Haven't we just agreed that we will keep the secret between us? Are you suggesting that Cora and Holly be separated indefinitely?"

There was silence around the table.

He looked at his wife.

"Holly?"

She still would not look at him.

"It is enough that we are considering allowing the Mud Child to grow up free on the surface," grumbled a squat pixie. "Continued access to the People would be _far_ too much of a risk."

"Aye."

"_Aye._"

"Insult to injury!"

"I have had _continued access _to the People for years," spat Artemis. "Have I ever exposed you? Ever posed a threat?"

"_Yes!"_ chorused at least five fairies including Trouble Kelp who apparently could not help himself.

The twenty-four-year-old clenched his fists. "I have saved your kind more times that I have endangered them."

"You have also seduced one of us and created a mutant!" exploded the pinch-faced gnome, banging his own clenched hands atop the table. "We would not be sat here now, discussing the most serious threat to our people's well-being since Opal Koboi still lived and breathed, if it weren't for you and your _continued access!_"

"She is my _wife_," bellowed Artemis. "Cora is our _child_."

"And the buck stops _here_!" shrieked the gnome above the little girl's fresh wailing. "We cannot allow this to spread, for our society to ever be _polluted _in this way again! We cannot encourage it!"

Artemis's chair scraped back and suddenly a dozen guns were being hastily primed.

"Hold your fire!" ordered Trouble, his own chair bouncing to the floor. "_Hold your fire!_"

Butler had spread his legs, ready for an attack, having placed a very unhappy Cora down on a chair behind his back.

"_Stop it!_" screamed Holly. "_All of you!"_

And there was silence. Throbbing, injured silence.

"I'd say this meeting was adjourned," said the head pixie, popping the tension with another sigh, "we shall have a five minute break and then the council shall re-adjourn until we come to a final decision."

Artemis's chest was heaving. His daughter had started sobbing again. And his wife still wouldn't look him in the eye.

* * *

The door slammed shut behind them. Artemis immediately strode to the other end of the room, pacing, running his hands back through his hair, struggling to regain some semblance of composure. He had travelled down to Haven that morning determined, cool, and in control. It would be like old times, he had told himself. He would stun them with cold logic. He would get what he wanted with strict, refined arguments. He would not let emotion get in the way.

But how could it not?

He had marched to his own death at age fifteen and not felt even a _tenth _of the emotional turmoil he had when he had walked into that room. And now, having just walked out of it…

"Artemis–"

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "What are you planning?"

Holly blinked. "What? Planning–?"

"_I saw you looking at them._"

He glared at her, at her stunned, unguarded face, before swearing and turning back to the wall again, pressing his head against the cool plaster.

"Artemis… I… I _really_ don't know what you're talking about."

He snorted.

Their world was quiet for a moment.

"It's just… it's just got to be a compromise," she murmured. "Either she's with you, or she's locked up down here."

"Would that be so bad?"

"_Yes!_"

"Why?" He reared away from the wall again. "Why would it be so bad?"

"Because you heard them!" she said, not meeting his gaze. "They want to keep her locked up until… _extinction._ She'd be locked up for her entire life!"

"Ninety years," said Artemis, "if that."

Holly closed her eyes.

_And there it is,_ whispered a voice at the very back of his head.

"You won't fight for us," he said, his every syllable layered with disgust. "You won't… You won't… _Why?_"

She still won't look at him. He feels the strongest urge to just grab her by the shoulders, rattle her, hit her, like she had done so many times to him.

"_Why won't you fight for us?_"

_For me. For her._

The door to the room opens and a sheepish-looking runner tells them that the council have made their decision.

* * *

The head pixie is sat up high, gripping his official sceptre.

"The magical human," he announces to the court at large, "Cora Evangeline Fowl, is hereby granted the right to a free life on the surface."

Butler released a thin breath of relief. Cora is cradled in his arms again. She is safe and relatively happy, her eyes fixed on the face of the short-haired elf stood in the eastern gallery.

"_Mama!_" she calls out. "_I'm over here!"_

"The conditions for this stated existence are as follows…"

She struggles, wondering why her mama has gone so far away again.

"_Mama! Mama! Look!"_

"Although knowledge of the People, following the age of twelve, is to be permitted…"

"_Mama! Mama!"_

"Personal contact, including purposefully being within one mile of any settlement, station, major city or dwelling etc. etc. of the People, any direct conversion or tactile, communicative interaction with any member of People, is strictly forbidden…"

"_Mama!"_

"These rules are also extended to the father of aforementioned subject, Artemis Fowl the Second…"

"_Mama!" _Cora was sobbing now. _"Mama! Look at me!" _

Holly clenched her eyes shut tight.

"Any breech of the conditions shall result in the imprisonment of the aforementioned subject, indefinitely, in this city of Haven. This decision was passed by a majority vote of ten to three votes by the court high council."

He brought the gavel sharply down.

"_Mama!"_

* * *

Artemis had been on the surface for approximately twenty-seven minutes before he had ordered Butler to bring the Bentley to a stop, got out of the car, and walked back to the fairy terminal.

He had returned three days later.

"Daddy!"

Cora had tottered towards him, her little fingers outstretched and wiggling.

He had walked straight past her and his ex-manservant without a word, strode across the third parlour, wrenched opened the liquor cabinet, and retreated upstairs with four bottles of various spirits.

Three weeks later and it is eight o'clock in the morning. Not that he knows it. He stopped trying to keep track of the time around a week ago. He has just let himself sink, content to stare up at the waves of his flickering life and not bother to claw to the surface.

The door to his bedroom creaks open. It is dark inside, but his visitor still manages to wind their way around the discarded bottles and smashed glass, toppled furniture, ripped clothes, the occasional shattered photo-frame, in order to reach the bed.

He hears the snuffles.

"Daddy?" whispers a voice.

He keeps his eyes shut.

"Daddy?"

He feels the mattress shift, ever so slightly, as something clambers atop the covers. Then something is beside his ear. Someone's sweet breath is against his ear.

"Butler told me," says Cora, "to ask you to open the curtains."

"What?"

"He _said_ that I should ask you to open the curtains. That I should tell you that this room is starting to look like… like an attic."

Stunning silence.

For an instant everything is still… and then he is rolling towards her. Wide eyes stare at her from darkened pits and then he is up, wrenching back the covers, striding across the room, glass cutting the bottom of unwashed feet. He grips the drapes with both hands and pulls. The whole pole cracks from the wall and falls, sending sweet, blinding daylight streaming into the room. For a moment, Artemis simply stands in it, the velvet pooled about his feet, and heat, the sweet heat of the sun, burning his sallow cheeks. Then he turns.

Cora stares at the shrunken, dishevelled mess her father has become. His hair is greasy and stuck up at all angles. His jaw was dark and wiry with beard growth. Rag-like pyjamas hang loose from bony shoulders and hips. As she hugs him, she feels and smells the dried sweat on his neck.

"I am so sorry," he whispers. "I know I haven't been… present, in more ways than one, recently, but I am here now. Do you understand?" He holds her back. "Cora?"

She nods, dragging a sleeve across her nose.

He notices that she is dressed in stout hiking boots and thick overalls with industrial gloves taped to the sleeves. A tall figure appears in the doorway and Artemis looks up.

"Cora," he murmurs. "Give me a moment to change my clothes. Go to the playroom and I shall join you there once I am less…"

"Smelly," she provided.

He smiled. "Exactly."

She toddled away, kicking some broken glass aside with a boot.

"I did it, Dommy," she whispered, conspiratorially, as she passed him. "I got him to open the curtains."

Butler had eyes only for his old charge. "You did indeed…"

And the two men were left alone.

"I want you to call Phillip," said Artemis. "Tell him to sell the Harper accounts."

Butler said nothing.

"I shall need to settle some of the American accounts myself. And the sale of Fowl Industries I should of course handle personally but otherwise… tell Phillip to liquidate it all. Only keep the businesses that are active in Ireland."

Butler still said nothing.

"If… If I am going to be doing this alone," said Artemis, quietly, "I want to do it properly… Give Tara her notice. Tell her that I shall write her references personally so she should have no trouble finding a position with another family."

"Cora will need a nanny."

"She shall have her father from now on."

The two men made eye contact.

"Has she had lunch?"

"Not yet."

"Would you please prepare something for us both whilst I take a shower?"

"Of course, Artemis."

The ex-bodyguard turned to go.

"Oh, and Butler."

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for… for opening the curtains."

Artemis stood there for a moment after the manservant had left. He simply rested with the sun on his back, the tingle of Cora's tiny fingers still tickling at his neck…Then he felt a sudden pain. He looked down and noticed his bleeding foot.

"Oh, Hell," he whispered, before bracing himself and hobbling across his bedroom floor to tend to his wounds.

* * *

**Got so much more of this I could write... But shouldn't!**

**All reviews appreciated. **

**PS. MEGA MEGA THANK TO In Christ Alone FOR THE AWESOME COVER PIC! A/H gritty drama is in the pipeline... once I think of something that isn't /crazily/ clichéd...**

**PPS. The 'sand vagina' anecdote is actually based on a true story told to my mum by a work colleague (I was the kid calling fannies by the family pet-name for fannies ( a 'twinky') until a ridiculous age - thus my incredible mirth when I found out that they're like a cake bar thing in America? You all just love to eat twinkies... A-hmm.)**


	19. Eight Days

**Soundtrack: Perfect Day by Lou Reed, Bon Ivor in general****, Never Say Never by The Fray**. 

**And a fuck load of others, tbh, but these stick out.**

**Inspired HEAVILY by 'Alone On the Water' by MadLori (go read it if you want champion of champion fanfiction heartbreak); I'd say almost an adaptation actually.**

**PS. Sorry to those who all got alerts that I'd updated RA! I accidentally just posted this as a chapter of that and had to rapidly delete it! Sorry!**

* * *

Eight Days

He remembered me on the fifth day after four days of laughing, screaming and stubborn nudism.

"_Artemis," she sighed, clearly exasperated. "Pants? Yeah? Remember those? Things that go about your backside to cover it up along with other dangly bits you're not supposed to have on show?"_

_The teenager's nose wrinkled. He was sat cross-legged on a long deckchair, one hand in the pot of blueberries sat in front of him, the other winding through the music options of a bulky MP3 player. He clicked the play button and reached up to adjust his headphones._

"_No, thank you," he said loudly._

"_Artemis, seriously–" _

_He lay back and her eyes snapped shut. _

Things moved so quickly in those first few days. He was alive, and so were we. Butler most of all. As Artemis took to life as a starving man would take to a banquet, he took the most joy out of all of us in watching him devour his new reign of being: colours, sounds, feelings, textures spilled from the corners of his mouth like the juices of some over-ripe fruit.

_He padded slowly to the window, three pairs of eyes following his every step. He was unsteady, and three pairs of hands were ready to catch him should he stumble and fall._

_He placed shaking fingers onto the surface of the sill. Their gazes twitched, adjusted, ready for the snap. _

_He stroked his thumb, the lightest of touches, along the line of the grain before moving his hands up to the window. He hesitated. His gown had risen with the raising of his arms exposing a few more inches of pale, sparsely muscled leg, blue, thread-thin veins snaking and pulsing in the hollow behind his kneecap. _

_His hands connected and he gasped._

"_Artemis?" snapped Butler. _

_The teenager flattened his bare forearms against the cold surface, pressed his forehead to it, his breath unsteady, misting the view beyond it. _

"_Glass," he whispered. _

_His palms slapped back to the sill. _

"_Wood."_

_Butler jerked as if to step forward but Holly put a hand on his arm. _

"_Hair, skin."_

_His fingers slipped atop his head. _

"_Cotton, heat, air–"_

_His chest began to heave. Holly shifted and Butler was across the room in an instant. _

"_Carpet," whispered Artemis, as his new knees hit the parting fibres, his hands gripped about his bodyguard's forearms. "Grit, dust, shadow, colour."_

"_I've got you," muttered Butler. "I've got you."_

"_Nails, gilt, paint, Teflon."_

_Holly's heart expanded to fill her whole chest cavity. _

"_Sound, light, salt."_

_He was crying then, his breath coming in gasps. _

"_Breath, iron, blood, rubber."_

_Butler enveloped him in his mammoth arms._

"_Tungsten, fur, coal, silk, spit, earth, acid, bark, marble, soap..."_

On the third day he did nothing but sing. He liked to feel the thrum in his new throat. Just liked the way he sounded, sat in a chair, yodelling nonsense, grinning like a baby that's just discovered he can clap. I sang right back to him, as did Butler. Foaly just wouldn't shut _up_, glad to have an opportunity to show off his vocal 'prowess'. I went to bed that night with ribs bruised from laughing.

Butler coaxed him into clothes every morning and eked out reluctant promises that he at least keep the _underwear_ on if not the T-shirts, the trousers, the socks, his shoes. The estate was strewn with the things he would inevitably discard later, his new found eagerness for nakedness only intensifying as he found newer things to feel and be felt. He preferred grass to cotton, wind and rain to denim, to wool, to silk. His body would have been covered with bruises, slashed with a thousand cuts, if it hadn't been for me healing him once every ten minutes. He liked to feel the world on his skin and knew nothing yet of modesty, shame or propriety. And why _should_ they have mattered to him? Really? Death gave brutal perspective.

I would pull his overgrown hair back into a ponytail and long, black strands would escape the elastic at every opportunity until there was almost more hair out of the band than in it. Bramble thorns and sticky weed buds stuck about it in a child's collage of nature and rebellion. He wasn't the one who cared so much about it. It was Butler and I who would sit behind him after a day of chasing, yelling, warning him, grabbing him as he reacquainted himself, intimately and with reckless abandon, with the wilds of the manor grounds, to pick the resulting debris from his head.

_He brushed past her, stroking his hand against her arm as he was so lately prone to do. She looked up from her book._

"_Oh. Hey. Are you going to have–"_

_He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and she snapped her eyes closed. _

"–_a shower?" _

_She heard cloth drop to the floor._

"_Yes."_

"_Right, well, just remember to close the door this time..."_

_And the door to the en suite did indeed snap shut. Five seconds later and the sound of powered water hitting expensive tile drilled into the main bedroom. It was another five seconds before she heard the singing. _

"_What a perfect day…" he sang above the water noise. "Drink sangria in the park…"_

_She smirked, her eyes flicking up from her book to focus on the bathroom door. It was the same song that had played on the radio yesterday. She knew it from the Gnommish cover that had been popular in Holly's college days. He, of course, had memorised it after one hearing. _

"_Later, when it gets dark… we go home…"_

"_Oh, such a perfect day," she murmured to herself, still smiling, "feed animals in the park..."_

"_Then later a movie too… and then home..." She heard him take a breath. "It's such a perfect day!"_

_She raised her voice. "I'm glad I spent it with you!"_

_There was laughter and the slap of wet palms against wet room walls._

"_Oh, such a perfect day!" he called._

_She shouted back. "You just keep me hanging on!"_

"_You just keep me hanging on!"_

_She snapped her book closed and pushed herself out of her chair. It was past lunchtime and she'd rushed breakfast that morning due to Artemis's whim of a dawn-light run. From those first lurching steps two days ago he had quickly found his balance – mostly due to the sheer amount of stimulants Foaly was pumping into the clone every few hours. It gave him almost limitless energy, and Holly and Butler were having a little trouble keeping up with him. One moment he would be lying on his stomach on his bed, listening to Puccini at full volume, with a large bag of cinder toffee at his side (which Holly had learnt that Artemis was practically addicted to), fully dressed, and the next he would be climbing the West Wing wall wearing only a dusting of chalk on each palm._

_She sauntered into the Fowl kitchen, heading straight for the fridge._

"_Oh, such a perfect day," she sang under her breath, "weekenders on our own… it's such fun."_

_She wrenched open the door and was immediately met with a host of fresh produce at eye level. Her smile widened. _

"_Such a perfect day…"_

_She pulled out a pack of cherry tomatoes._

"_You made me forget myself…"_

_And a cucumber. _

"_I thought I was someone else…"_

_And, after a brief moment of consideration, a bag of rocket._

"_Someone good…"_

_She ditched everything on a worktop, which she could just about reach comfortably with the aid of a stool Butler had found for her, and grabbed a chopping board. _

"_Oh, it's such a perfect day!" she sang. "I'm glad I spent it with you! Such a perfect day–"_

"_You just kept me hanging on..."_

_She dropped the knife she had just slid from a nearby block and swivelled towards the door._

"_Frond," she breathed, her pique falling. "Artemis! Don't do that."_

_He just looked at her, long hair dripping on the carpet, pale hands hanging loose at his sides. For once, he was decent. He'd thrown on a T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, though obviously not bothered to dry himself properly before putting them on as dark patches were beginning to spread across the blue and brown. _

"_Are you hungry?" she asked, pointing to the cucumber on her board. "Do you want any of this?" _

_He stepped forward and Holly immediately knew that something was wrong. It was something in the charge of his face, the hurried, determined movements of his body as he strode towards her, around the breakfast island, around the work top, as if he hadn't a second to spare._

"_Artemis, what's–?"_

_His palm brushed against her cheek, his other hand clutching in her hair. _

"_Holly," he whispered. _

_And her eyes had barely time to widen before he had ducked down his head and pressed his lips to hers. She gripped the worktop behind her, her eyes widening still._

"_You… you remember?" she stuttered after he had pulled back, her eyes darting over his face. "Is that what this is?"_

_He nodded, wiping roughly at his cheek. She gave a cry that was halfway between a laugh and a sob before pulling him back to her again. They kissed with all their considerable strength, Artemis actually bending her back against the worktop. The stool skidded from under her feet and she wrapped her legs around his hips, keeping them connected. _

"_Butler!" she yelled eventually, breaking away again but keeping her hands about his neck. "Foaly! Quickly!"_

_There was the unmistakable sound of pounding, bodyguard footsteps, before Butler skidded into the doorway. _

"_What?" he demanded, Sig Sauer raised. "What's wrong?"_

"_He remembers!" laughed Holly, getting down from his charge and wiping at her face with the heel of her hand. _

_Butler's gaze snapped to the young man. "Artemis?"_

"_Hello, old friend," said the teenager hoarsely. _

_Butler actually threw aside his weapon to accept the young man into his arms. Artemis held him tight, not caring about the ominous pressure threatening to shatter his new ribcage. _

"_Jesus, Artemis–"_

"_I know, I'm–"_

"_Don't you _ever_, _ever_ do–"_

"_I know–"_

"_I thought I'd _lost _you–"_

"_So did–"_

"_You were just _lying_ there–"_

"_What's going on?" interrupted Foaly, a pair of plastic safety goggles shoved onto the top of his head, the edges of his specially-tailored lab coat smouldering slightly. "Why are you hugging? Why are you _crying_? Should _I_ be hugging and crying?"_

_Artemis laughed and leant back out of his bodyguard's embrace._

"_Only if you really feel the need, centaur." _

_And Holly was still rubbing at her eyes in the corner, giggling hysterically and feeling the happiest she had in a long, long time. _

We took things slowly for the next two days. Well, as slow as you could get with Artemis. He started keeping his clothes on and lost some of his enthusiasm for climbing things and diving into random patches of foliage. He was cleaner, calmer. He read a lot, could stare for hours at pictures, paintings, rediscovered the piano and indulged Butler in playing all his favourite sonatas. He laughed a lot, and touched a lot, stayed free with his emotions, never hiding what he felt. He was agonisingly, unbearably happy. We all were.

"_My father proposed here," he told her. _

_They were stood on a small hillock over-looking the western meadows, the sun just retiring below the far horizon, a spray of pink cirrus cloud scattered across its blazing brow. _

"_It took him three tries to finally ask her. For some odd reason, he thought she might refuse him."_

_Holly raised an eyebrow. "What a shocking lack in Fowl confidence."_

"_I thought so. I have seen the pictures. She was clearly very much in love with him." _

_He pulled on her hand and she turned, allowing him to lead her away. _

"_Would you propose here, then?" she asked, trailing her free fingers idly against the tops of the wild grasses. _

"_Probably not. See there?"_

"_Ah."_

"_Yes, the romance is somewhat diminished when you are in sight of your own tombstone."_

"_Are you going to do anything about that by the way?"_

"_No." He gave her a soft smile. "Let him rest in peace."_

_She smiled sadly back and tugged at his hand. He turned and allowed her to lead him away. _

_They ambled down the hill, back towards the picnic blanket they had left out beneath the shade of a towering ash. She sat down amongst the fading tartan and he, of course, sat with her. _

"_So what's the plan now?" she asked. _

"_I think I shall lay you down for a kiss."_

_She looked at him, heart careening about the inside of her chest._

"_But first…" He reached forward for the picnic basket. "I wish to have a Scotch egg…"_

_She interrupted the movement of his arm, gently pushing him back and kissing him before his head had even made contact with the blanket. Her fingers trailed against his newly cropped hair and she felt him smile against his lips. They had cut it only the previous day, almost exactly re-enacting a misspent afternoon in a mental institute so long ago except with far more laughter and a less shocking conclusion – Butler had fetched the clippers whilst he still had more than an inch to work with. _

"_Well," whispered Artemis. "That wasn't exactly according to plan."_

"_I improvised."_

"_I know. I am a great fan of improvisation…" _

_He grinned and they rolled, shirts rucking, bare legs brushing together. Ireland had been so warm to them for the past week. It was a glorious heat wave, strange but welcome, as if nature knew how much they needed it. _

"_And the next plan?"_

"_I will dance with you."_

"_But we don't have any music."_

"_I shall hum for us."_

"_Genius."_

_He played with the ends of her fingers, her neck curved back against his bicep, her head turned so she could see his face. _

"_And then?"_

"_And then I shall spend the rest of my new life with you."_

_She watched his expression. He seemed perfectly at ease, as if he had merely suggested going for a walk, or making her a cup of tea. His chest was rising and falling steadily, a slight smile playing about his lips. _

_Then his brow twitched. _

"_But first," he said, sitting up and putting a hand up to his head. "I think… ah…"_

"_Artemis?"_

_He clenched his eyes shut. _

"_Artemis? What is it?"_

_She sat up too. His breathing was no longer steady but laboured and obviously drawn with pain. _

"_Have you got a headache? Do you need magic?"_

_He gave a sharp hiss and clutched his other hand over his brow. She placed her forehead on the backs of his fingers and cradled his skull. _

"_Heal," she breathed. _

_The amount of magic that responded, that erupted from her body, took her by surprise. Sparks immediately targeted his head, sinking between his fingers and into his sheared scalp… but they also flittered to his chest. They sunk into his stomach, wound in a stream about his entire torso. Artemis shuddered and moaned. _

"_Artemis," blurted Holly as he began to tilt sideways. "Artemis!"_

_His arms fell away and she noticed the blood trailing slowly down from his nostrils._

That day, day six, was the longest. Foaly worked over him with various chrysalis-related machines as Butler kept watch by his bedside. I went away and completed the ritual, having used all my magic in the meadow, just in case he would need healing again. Artemis swam in and out of consciousness, his breath still laboured, blood still occasionally leaking from his nose or mouth.

His lips were so red.

"_How long?" asked Butler._

"_Five days," replied Foaly, "at the outside." _

___He cupped both hands behind his bald head, tilting his head back and raising bloodshot eyes to the ceiling._

_"Right," he said after a silent minute. "Excuse me."_

_He got up, passing the newly stunned Artemis and Holly who were sat side-by-side, hand-in-hand, on the chintz sofa. The teenager looked up._

_"Butler?" he asked faintly. _

_Paintings and decorative urns passed in a blur as the bodyguard stalked down the corridors. When he reached his own room, he wrenched open the handle. Artemis hurried after him._

"_Butler–!"_

_The door slammed shut in his face. He lurched forced, undeterred, and__ banged a weak fist against the reinforced mahogany._

"_Butler!"_

_There was a crash from inside and a noise like an animal, a bear or a puma, being speared through the chest. _

_Artemis thumped the door again. "Butler!"_

_There were several more crashes, a shattering, a terrible, ripping, scream. Artemis rested his head against the door. There was another crunch, a broken clatter._

"_Butler."_

_The bodyguard strew his life against all four walls, destroying his furniture, his bedding. Outside, Artemis slid down the wood coming to rest on his knees against the door. There was another scream from inside as some other trinket, some other prized possession, met its demise, violently, furiously, against a plastered wall. _

_Artemis pushed his hands back over his head._

"_Butler, please!" he screamed._

___Holly was stood at the other end of the corridor. H__er whole world was shot open, gaping, filled only with rushing air, deafening, heartless, air. She listened to the carnage, to the fall out of another person's despair, and let it fill her up and drain her out again. She closed her eyes, closed her throat, and floated away._

He made the executive decision not to tell his family. He hadn't contacted them up to that point anyway, waiting to make sure that the danger of what then _had_ happened had passed. They were away in Cuba, with his brothers, with Juliet, and they still don't know to this day about his second lease of life.

I'm never going to tell them.

He was relatively calm the next day, possibly because of the analgesics Foaly pumped into him in exchange for his usual nutrients. He set up his vigil outside, on a long cushioned chair, and Butler and I stayed beside him, deafened by the sound of all that we weren't saying.

_Butler held out the pyjama bottoms, Artemis's long fingers wrapped once more about his bulky forearms._

"_Thank you," murmured the boy as he stepped shakily into them. _

_Butler grunted. _

_He helped him over to the bed and sat him on the exposed sheet. He did not move to lie down. The older man walked away and picked up his discarded trousers, folding them carefully and laying them on the back of an armchair. He did the same with the shirt. _

"_Butler."_

"_Yes?"_

"_I am going to take the solution tomorrow evening."_

_His bodyguard nodded. He understood. The clone was shutting down rapidly, but not rapidly enough. Soon, Artemis would lose all control of his new body, he wouldn't be able to think properly, speak, eat, drink..._

"_I want to go before this all gets unmanageable."_

_Butler collected his shoes, put them neatly side-by-side beside the hearth. _

"_Holly is going to help me. I want you to start making arrangements for the disposal of my body. Just have it cremated somewhere and scatter the ashes. Anywhere. I don't care."_

_Butler coiled a belt around his massive fist. _

"_Or I suppose Foaly could do it," said Artemis, thinking of other options, "dispose of it underground somewhere. I have told him to incinerate the chrysalis."_

"_I don't know, Artemis. I'm trying not to think about it."_

"_I know it is... _difficult_ to think about these things, but we must be practical."_

"_Hmm."_

"_I do not wish to leave you, Butler. But… but if I am then I am certainly not going to leave trouble for you."_

"_No, you're not," the manservant plucked up a pair of loose socks, "because this time I'm coming with you."_

_There was a brief silence._

"_What?" whispered Artemis. _

"_You heard me."_

"_No. No, that is unacceptable."_

_The older man turned to coolly stare at his charge, rolling the two socks into a ball in his hand. _

"_I was born to protect you. You are my purpose in life. What on earth would be the point of my living after you?"_

_Artemis flushed with anger. _

"_How _dare_ you?" he hissed. "How _dare_ you even suggest such a thing?"_

"_It is not a suggestion, Artemis." _

"_You ungrateful oaf!"_

_Butler blinked. "Excuse–?"_

"_You heard," he spat, fists bunching. "How dare you, when I would give _everything_ for just a few more healthy seconds on this earth, even talk about giving it all up?" He moved forward until he was perched precariously on the very edge of the mattress. "You must live on after me. You _must_. Otherwise, what exactly was the _point_ of all this?"_

_Butler moved forward, to put his charge's shaking body back on the bed, but Artemis flung up a hand. _

"_No!" he ordered, fingers trembling. "Do not touch me!" _

"_Artemis–"_

"_I didn't kill myself to save humanity, Butler, I killed myself to save precisely six people. If you just go ahead and kill yourself anyway then that makes my sacrifice only 83.8% valid! And that, my dear man, is unacceptable!"_

_The bodyguard's expression creased. _

"_You would dare," rasped Artemis, his voice fading, head shaking from side to side. "You would even _dare_…" _

_And then he began to cough, lung-shifting, throat-choked coughs that caused his whole spine to curve and his blue eyes to clench shut with pain. Butler pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, knelt, and pressed it up to the boy's mouth. Blood transferred from stained lips and whitened knuckles to soft, bleached cotton and, after an impossibly long time, the room finally fell back to silence. Butler wiped around his chin. _

"_Lie back."_

_The boy did as he was told. Shovel-like palms pushed against his back and the mattress sank as Butler climbed in in his wake. _

"_No," croaked Artemis as a trunk-like arm moved over him and came to rest around his stomach. "You… won't. You won't… dare."_

_Butler pulled him close._

"_You… won't."_

"_Hush now."_

"_Promise… me."_

"_Hush, Arty."_

On the last day it rained, typically. He was very still all morning, and then again all afternoon; he was quiet, contemplative. He seemed to be at peace, and Butler too. He orbited him like a tuxedo-clad, overgrown moon, bringing him blankets, tending to the fire before him, generally meeting his every whim. I just watched and sat, feeling time steadily dragging something out of me, teasing _something _apart from my skin, from my heart. Foaly could barely stand it.

"_Well,"_ _said_ _Artemis, breaking a silence that was several hours old. "I believe it is… about time… I went to bed…Butler?"_

_Holly and Foaly glanced at each other, a dead weight dropping into both of their stomachs. _

"_Now?" croaked Foaly. "But… but it's only just turned nine o'clock. We could watch a film or something, play a board game? Anything."_

_The bodyguard picked Artemis up under his arms and knees, pulling him free from the nest of cushions and comforters. _

"_No," said the teenager lightly, casually, with some of his old authority. "I am… tired now. Goodnight, Foaly."_

_The centaur struggled to keep his composure. _

"_Goodnight, Mud Boy."_

_Artemis smiled. _

_Holly looked back at Foaly before she followed them and saw the quiver in his chin._

"_Just stay there," she told him. _

_He nodded, unable to speak, and rubbed a hand over his mouth. _

_Holly heard Butler and Artemis talking in murmurs as they climbed the stairs ahead of her. She heard soft laughter, the rumble of the elder man's bass guffaw. Artemis was still smiling, his thin, stained fingers gripping to his bodyguard's shoulders. _

_As they stopped at Artemis's door, the teenager reached down a shaking hand and turned the knob. Butler kicked the wood open. _

"_On the bed?"_

"_I… think so."_

_He lowered his charge gently into the sheets. _

"_Comfortable?"_

_Artemis winced and pushed himself up, bracing himself against the cushions already piled up ready to support him. _

"_Yes…" he replied. "Thank you..."_

"_My pleasure," said the older man quietly. _

_They looked at each other for a moment, exchanging something so vitally important, before the bodyguard straightened and walked across the room. He pulled a small canister out of his inside jacket pocket and poured the powdery contents into a cup of water already waiting on the desk. He stirred it with a silver cutty._

"_I'll be downstairs if you need me," he said, walking back to the bed and placing the glass atop the locker._

"_Yes," said Artemis. He looked at his manservant again. "Goodnight, Butler."_

"_Goodnight, Artemis."_

_And the bodyguard was gone. _

_Holly was left behind, stood beside his towering wardrobe, already almost in pieces. _

"_So what now?" she asked, one arm wrapped around her stomach, her voice strained, on the edge of losing all semblance of calm. _

_Artemis reached out a hand. _

"_We are going… to follow the plan," he said smoothly as she reached him, laced her fingers tightly, almost roughly in his. _

_He reached out his free hand and took the glass from his locker. His muscles shook with the effort but he managed to bring it to his lips. _

"_Artemis–"_

_He interrupted her._

"_To your… good health."_

_He closed his eyes, took another steadying breath… and tipped the cup back. _

_Three floors below them, unbeknownst to Holly, a forty-something-year-old bodyguard did the same. _

_For a moment she considered smacking the glass out of his hands. She watched the slow, gulping movement of his Adam's apple, the clench of his eyelids as he fought the bitter taste that made him want to bring it all right back up again, and tried to imagine that she was watching a film, only a film. Then he coughed, struggling to swallow, and her hands suddenly became part of the mise-en-scène, holding his gently to help him consume the last few drops. Once he was done, she let the cup drop from their hands and thud to the carpet. _

"_You'll… stain the… weave," he said. _

_She ignored him, climbing up next to him, pressing as much of herself into his side as possible. _

"_What now?" she demanded, her heart beating a mile a minute. "What's the plan now, Artemis?"_

_He let his head fall against hers, too weak to shrug like last time. _

"_We are… going to… We are… just going to lie here."_

_She nestled closer, nodding. _

"_Okay, right. Okay, I can do that. What next?"_

"_You are… you're going… to kiss me."_

_She turned her head immediately, hitting him with a kiss just as full of desperation and agony as she was. When she pulled away, the bitterness was on her lips too. _

"_And now?" she spat. "What now?"_

"_And now…I am going… to do… as I originally proposed…"_

"_What? What are you going to do?"_

"_I am… going to spend… the rest of my life with you…"_

_And that was it. Like the single flick of a finger that breaks a cracked aquarium wall sending tonnes of frenzied water crashing to the earth. Holly was crashing. Holly was spilling all around him, soaking into their skin, smothering them, interrupting the flow of his last steady breaths. _

"_Tell me…" whispered Artemis, who was now crashing too, his resolve trembling, so terribly afraid all over again. "Tell me the story, Holly."_

"_It," she wiped angrily at her face (she would see him, she had to see him), "it all started in Ho Chi Minh city. It was… It was sweltering by anyone's standards…"_

"_Who's?" he demanded._

"_Yours!" she snapped. "You… and… and you wouldn't have put up with it if… if it hadn't had been so important."_

"_Important? Why important?"_

"_Important to the plan!"_

_Over the next ten minutes he lost consciousness. Holly kept up the story. She told him about the drunken sprite, how Butler had helped him to photograph the book, to inject the sprite, how she, far below the earth, had been given her orders to go after the troll in Italy, how she'd made such a pig's ear of it all, been given such a bollocking from Root, flown all the way across Europe… _

_When his breathing stopped she paused, sniffed hard, gripped him tighter, before carrying on. _

"_So the fairy… she… banged the bed into the floor again and again until…. until a slither of earth could be seen through… through the concrete…"_

_Somewhere around Butler donning a suit of armour she heard the soft sound of hooves on carpet. _

"_And, to the amazement of everyone watching…"_

"_Holly."_

"_He picked up the mace…"_

"_Holly, he's gone."_

"_And faced the troll head on…"_

"_Holly...Holly."_

We didn't cremate him. Two days after Butler's funeral, we broke into his grave and lay his master's body to rest with him. They became their last little secret. I think that's what Artemis, what they both, would have wanted.

He had remembered me on the fifth day, after four days of laughing, screaming and stubborn nudism.

And on the eighth he died, lying in my arms.

* * *

**Right! Put on happy music people! Lots and lots of it!**

**Reviews, as ever, are muchly appreciated.**


	20. Left Foot Fowl

**Because we hit the 300 review mark and it's time for a bit of long-overdue kraken poking.**

**(seriously guys, amazing, I wake up to find people are adding this as a favourite almost ever morning, so _thank you)_**

**WARNING: Offensive language and HANKY PANKY (boys will be boys)**

* * *

Left Foot Fowl

The school bell rang in the distance.

"Right, boys!" bellowed their balding games master. "Hit the showers!"

Artemis was clasping his knees, struggling to get his breath back. The rest of his classmates trudged past him, their faces flushed, hair damp from sweat, but grinning and only slightly panting.

_Bastards, _thought Artemis as his throat burned.

"Fowl!" yelled the games master, "seeing as you're so keen to stay on pitch you can fetch all the balls in." He tossed a large net down onto the grass.

Artemis blanched. "But, sir–"

"No buts! Get a move on."

Artemis glared after him for a moment before lashing out angrily at a daisy patch. Another layer of mud was added to the already crusted toes of his football boots.

"Yeah, get a move on, Left Foot!" shouted a blonde boy in the distant, walking backwards up the pitch.

"Yeah!" crowed his pinch-faced friend, "wouldn't want to be late for old Professor Higgins, would ya?"

Another boy started thrusting his hips at something invisible in mid-air and the rest of his retreating classmates howled with laughter.

_They've just forgotten, _thought Artemis. _They've just forgotten what happened to the last boy who called me that name._

"Oi, Left Foot!"

"My name," spat Artemis, turning towards the voice, "is _Artemis._"

Adam Levesson was swaggering towards him, that infamous, stupid, lopsided smirk plastered across his _fatuous_ face. The girls in St Margaret's found it faint-inducing, but Artemis thought it made him look like a toddler pleased about fouling his own draws.

"Yeah, Left Foot, I know it is."

Adam brushed back his long fringe only for it to fall straight back into place.

_Oh Jesus,_ thought Artemis.

"Don't you have something better to be doing?" he snapped, bending to pick up a ball. "Throwing your own faeces? Playing with yourself? The usual things _apes_ do."

"I'd rather be playing with you."

"Ha! Believe me; your game is _woefully_ underdeveloped."

"That depends. Which game are we playing?"

Artemis straightened, holding the ball to his hip.

"What do you want, Levesson?" he asked bluntly. "We have spoken barely three words to each other in two years and frankly I was content to leave our relationship at that."

Adam walked a few steps closer. "Left Foot Fowl."

"I warn you. Do _not_–"

"But it's the truth, isn't it? You are…" Adam tipped his head to the side. "Y'know."

A face flashed in Artemis's mind, floppy haired, freckled and young: Jareth McClarent, heir to the once flourishing McClarent hotel chain.

"Go back to campus," he said warily, grabbing another ball and pushing it into the bag. "Sir will be missing you."

"I know what Jareth did."

"Do you?" replied the Fowl heir, as if Adam had told him he liked two sugars in his tea.

"He was just freaking out. He was just lashing out at... at what he did. He called you Left Foot but… but nobody got it."

"Oh, some people gotit," said Artemis assuredly, "it did not stay his private little joke for long. But then he didn't get to laugh long, did he?" He snorted mirthlessly. "Go back to the changing rooms, Levesson. Unless you have something else you wish to _stammer _at me?"

Adam swallowed. "I just… well…" The brown haired boy suddenly looked impossibly awkward.

Some tiny little voice at the back of Artemis's head was telling him to let this bumbling _child _of a classmate off the hook… but he was now so full of heat, of resentment.

"So how did you finally work it out?" he asked suddenly, straightening and noticing for the first time that Adam Levesson's eyes were the colour of oak leaves in spring. "Did Jareth tell you? If so, that was highly unsubtle of him."

"He's my cousin's friend," muttered Adam. "He told me about… about a bet."

"Oh _that_ one," said Artemis, nodding. "Yes, that _is _the most popular version. He had a wager with his friends that he could get _fairy boy Fowl_, _infamous_ undercover poofter,to kiss him at the summer fete – and he did, proving forever that Artemis Fowl was indeed a dirty _left footer. _Ingenious, _masterful_…"

"And… and the fight..."

"Hmm. Jareth and I argued, but in the summer heat and the rush of testosterone, I just couldn't keep my hands off him! I caught him off-balanced and stole a kiss..."

"Both lies," said Adam.

"Certainly. But ones that aren't that difficult to swallow if you're a teenaged boarding-school boy starved for entertainment and intrigue."

Artemis smiled tightly. Adam didn't.

"Here," said the Fowl heir, pointing at a ball beside Adam's feet, disliking the way the teenager was looking at him. "Pass that to me."

Adam did as he told, picking up the ball and walking closer.

"He kissed _you_," said the seventeen-year-old, pushing the ball in to join its brothers, "didn't he? Not the other way around."

The face flashed in Artemis's mind again, this time much closer.

"_Here," whispered Jareth, his breath uneven, "quick, get down."_

_Artemis opened his mouth. "Why–?" _

"_Hush!" _

_A finger was pressed to Artemis's lips. Jareth's head was turned away, straining to listen, to hear whether they had been pursued… Beside him, Artemis was desperately trying to figure out what was happening to him. He was giddy, jittery, charged with some kind of strange, hectic energy. The sight of the back of Jareth's curly-haired head was making him feel drunk, invincible. He was crouched behind a pinstriped circus tent with Jareth McClarent. Jareth McClarent, who all day had been mocking him, laughing at him, teasing him, goading him, knocking him, pushing him, pulling him roughly towards the deserted space behind the festival marquee…_

"_There's no-one coming," whispered Jareth, his spare hand clutching to a support rope. "I think we're safe. I think–"_

_Artemis pushed his tongue through his lips. It was an instinctive move, reckless, and Artemis didn't flinch when Jareth wrenched his fingers back, turned to stare at him with wide, lamp-like, brown eyes._

"_What are–?"_

_Artemis pressed his own fingers quickly against Jareth's lips._

_Jareth swallowed, and Artemis watched cold shock transform into something completely other in the older boy's eyes. Slowly, still looking at Artemis, Jareth opened his mouth, and Artemis drew a sharp breath. _

_Somewhere beyond the skin of the marquee, stalls were selling ginger beer; they were selling drizzle cakes and wooden children's toys; crocheted baby shoes and tickets for the raffle. There were a hundred different people all chattering and laughing, fighting and bustling, clamouring and giggling in the rare summer heat. The games tables were full of players, the gaelic teams clacking their sticks together on the way to the green. The folk band was drumming from the centre pavilion, their lone flute trilling, a scratchy viola keeping their many dancers dancing. For Artemis they no longer existed. At that moment there was nothing but the dust, his ridiculous heart rate, and Jareth McClarent: tall, impossible, beautiful Jareth McClarent._

_Jareth's fingers rose and stroked against Artemis's hand, teased Artemis's fingers away from his mouth until they were laced in his. Their giddiness was half gone now, replaced by something deeper, something far more insistent. Artemis raised his free hand to Jareth's face. He hesitated a moment, his expression for once open, both nervous and fascinated, before brushing aside a sheaf of brown curls. They felt far softer than he thought they would. _

_Artemis's heart was now beating so hard, he swore that Jareth must be able to see its jump through the skin of his neck. His suspicions were almost confirmed as brown eyes dipped their gaze to his throat..._

_They stared at each other._

_Every instinct was screaming inside of him but Jareth remained rooted to the spot. Artemis licked his lips, his fingers gripping the other boy's convulsively… and then he darted forward, praying to God that for once in his life he could hit a static target... _

_He could. But after barely a second's contact he had pulled back again. _

_Artemis caught a glimpse of a pair of wide brown eyes before Jareth's fingers were gripping in his hair and lips, greedy and desperate, collided once more against his own. _

_Jareth's kiss was clumsy, unpractised, reminding Artemis of the lower school St Bartleby's boys learning folk dances during Michaelmas half; they too were without rhythm, without expertise; Jareth was a hormone-addled mangle of nerves and longing and his kiss was pure innocence, just a worried, juvenile experiment... until suddenly it wasn't. _

_Artemis felt a sharp tugging at his sleeve and was tipped sideways into the dust. Then Jareth was on top of him, straddling his hips with strong, football-muscled legs. He had barely a moment to think of his dust-ruined jacket before Jareth was kissing him again, anchoring himself to him by gripping onto the lapels of Artemis's blazer. Artemis closed his eyes, finding he no longer cared about the stones digging into his spine and shoulders, or the grit rubbing into his hair. He raised his hands to hold Jareth to him and didn't notice as the older boy eked his tie from the collar of his school shirt and pulled open the first of his top buttons. It came as a shock, therefore, when Jareth's mouth abruptly left Artemis's and began to kiss and suck at the exposed skin of the younger teenager's neck. Artemis shuddered and made a noise he would never have made among polite company. Something snapped inside him, and with strength Artemis hadn't known he possessed, he pushed against Jareth until he was the one on his back in the dust and Artemis was hovering above him, his mismatched eyes glinting like kyanite._

_Then something changed. Jareth stared up at him, his brow creasing inwards, his mouth a confused, puckered 'o'. He uttered something, somewhere between a grunt and a cry, and suddenly his hands were slamming against Artemis's chest. The Fowl heir was sent sprawling in the dust and Jareth was back on his feet. _

"_What were you doing?" demanded Jareth, red faced and dishevelled. _

_Artemis, for once in his life, was completely nonplussed. _

"_What do you mean?" he gasped. "You know exactly what we were doing!"_

"You_ doing!" corrected Jareth savagely. "What were _you _doing? You… you… pervert!"_

_This brought Artemis cruelly back to Earth. He propped himself up on his elbows and squinted incredulously at Jareth. _

"_You are going to deny this?" he asked, stunned at the conclusion his brain had come to. "You are… you are going to refute your own, quite evident, sexuality and project it onto _me_?" _

_Jareth's chest was heaving with emotion. _

"_You… you came onto me. You kissed me."_

"_There was a mutual attraction," said Artemis angrily. "We kissed each _other_."_

"_No. No, _you_ came onto _me_!"_

_Artemis almost laughed. "You were the one to drag me to this bloody spot in the first place!"_

"_Hey! There you are!" A lanky boy Artemis recognised from the lower sixth bounded around the tent canopy and clapped Jareth on the shoulders. He was grinning, his brown hair flopping into his eyes. "Been looking everywhere for you, Jar!"_

_Jareth was still staring at Artemis propped up on the ground. _

"_Have I interrupted something?" joked Adam Levesson's cousin. "Haven't caught you two snogging, have I?"_

"_No," spat Jareth, a little too abruptly. _

_Artemis suppressed a scornful glance at his former partner and got to his feet. _

"_The opposite actually," he said, trying to keep his voice level, "we were fighting."_

_The sixth former scoffed. "Fighting? You can't even kick a football, Fowl. What are you doing picking fights with McClaren?"_

_The giddiness of earlier was well and truly vanished. Artemis's face was hot and prickly: he suddenly felt like a prize turkey, plucked and stuffed._

"_I have no idea," he said brazenly. _

"_Come on," ordered the boy, pushing at his friend's back, "you've had your fun with freaky Fowl here. Let's go watch the girls' Gaelic."_

"_Aye," said Jareth, almost to himself, "yeah, I'm with you."_

_The taller boy looped an arm about his shoulder and swivelled his friend away from Artemis. "Seriously, what _were_ you doing with Artemis Fowl?"_

"_We had… a disagreement."_

"_About what?"_

"_Football."_

"_Football?" The other boy snorted. "But Fowl knows nothing about football. He's got two left feet."_

"_Yeah… Left Foot Fowl." _

_Artemis jerked at the sound of their cruel laughter, high and clear as church bells, and a heat, shameful and damning, pooled in the pit of his stomach._

"_Yeah," laughed Jareth, "in more ways than one if you catch my drift…"_

"_Seriously?"_

"_Oh yeah." Jareth's voice was as confident and bawdy as it had been before he had pulled Artemis behind the marquee. "I wasn't sure whether he was gonna smack me or kiss me…" _

Artemis shoved the last ball in the bag and pulled the drawstring closed.

"He was such a dick," said Adam lowly.

Artemis sighed. He looked up at the brown-haired boy.

"He was a little boy frightened and in denial."

"You pitied him."

"I did. To an extent."

"Until the hotel thing."

"Until the hotel thing."

Adam's eyes narrowed. He pushed back that infamous fringe one more time and cocked his head to the side.

"Well," he said, in what Artemis's supposed was meant to be a husky and appealing voice, "I'd just like to tell you that I am _not_ a little boy…"

"You are seventeen," said Artemis flatly.

"Yeah. And so are you."

"Only _technically_."

The Fowl heir took satisfaction from the confused expression that flashed briefly across Adam's face before picking up the bag of balls and hefting them over his shoulder. They weren't particularly heavy, just cumbersome and awkward. Adam grabbed a handful of netting from the bottom and pulled until the two teenagers were carrying the balls easily between them.

"I can see you're an inexperienced ball handler," said the brown-haired boy casually, "but don't worry, I can teach you the ways."

It was Artemis's turn to be taken off guard.

"_Excuse _me?"

"Ball handling," repeated Adam, unabashed. "Unless you'd prefer we make another 'bet'?" He pulled the net around, forcing Artemis to deviate slightly from his path. "I _bet _I'm a better kiss than Jareth McClaren."

"Do you now?" Artemis yanked the net back and returned them to the track.

"Definitely. Or, y'know, we could do the fight thing." Adam's expression suddenly became deathly serious. "Skin on skin… stripped to the waist…"

Artemis tried to glare at him but couldn't quite manage it.

"Do I detect a _smile_?" demanded Adam, apparently aghast. "Did I _actually_ make Artemis Fowl _laugh_?"

"_At_ you," confirmed Artemis, tugging the net as Adam almost pulled them off course again.

"You know," continued Adam, "I once heard Jareth telling someone he'd head butted a horse?"

Artemis did laugh then. "Did he say why?"

"No. I think he just likes to challenge himself sometimes."

Artemis looked away but Adam caught the look, dropping his end of the ball bag. He extended a hand towards Artemis.

"Hello," he said, his brown eyes twinkling, "I'm Adam Levesson. Pleased to meet your acquaintance."

Artemis stared at the hand a moment as if not quite sure what to do with it.

"Artemis Fowl the Second," he said finally, folding it in his own. "Likewise, I'm sure."

They stood like that for a moment, their hands linked tightly between them. Then Adam swallowed and slipped his back.

"Now, now," he said softly. "I like to take my dates for a bite to eat before dragging them off behind festival marquees."

Artemis looked up.

"Where?" he asked.

"The Swaddle Inn."

"Time?"

"Eight o'clock?"

"Alright."

Adam blinked. "What? You–? Oh. And you're okay with the Swaddle?"

"Yes," replied Artemis. "Certainly it's a little common for my usual tastes but you're right, we won't get any fuss in there and it's unlikely any of the St Bart's boys would walk in on us."

"But I didn't say any of–"

"You didn't have to."

Adam tutted, touching his fingers briefly to his temple. "Genius," he said, "right."

Artemis gave a sort of _'what can ya do?'_ shrug and it was Adam's turn to laugh.

"I'll see you at eight then," he said, walking backwards away from Artemis up the pitch.

"You aren't going to help me with these?" demanded Artemis.

"Nope! I prefer to watch you struggle manfully from over here."

The Fowl heir scowled.

"And don't wear a suit!" called Adam, when he was practically back at the school walls.

"I'll wear whatever I want to!" yelled back Artemis.

"Then so shall I!"

Eight o'clock came at The Swaddle Inn and Artemis stepped out of the Bentley immaculately dressed, as always, in a bespoke Canali evening suit. He straightened his French cuffs and breathed in the sharp evening air.

"I'll just be driving around," grumbled Butler from the drivers sear. "If this bloke tries to pull anything, I can be there in two minutes to maim him."

"Honestly, Butler, I doubt that will be necessary."

"But keep the offer in mind."

Artemis took another breath and squared his shoulders. He waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder and Butler smiled, satisfied, as his charge pushed through the busy public house doors. He put the Bentley into gear and drove off.

A weird combination of university students and older, tie-dyed locals, occupied the pub, either sat at tables or on high stools, chattering and laughing and quaffing their various drinks. The pub was old, and the original wooden beams and bricks were exposed in the squat ceiling and walls. For what it lacked in sophistication it more than made up in character…

"Artemis!"

The teenager's head whipped around.

He spotted Adam stood out of a small wooden booth beside the fireside. The teenager's brown hair was slicked back from his face, his school football kit replaced by a tailed tuxedo complete with black cane, monocle, and silken top hat.

"Why, Left Foot," he exclaimed as the Fowl heir approached, "you've come so terribly under-dressed!"

"Sit down," ordered Artemis sharply.

"I know you're usually a sloppy dresser," continued Adam as he slid back into his seat, "but you could have at least made an effort. Just this once."

The Fowl heir shook his head, his tongue poking at a canine. "You're funny, you really are."

"Listen," said Adam, leaning closer and gazing at Artemis sympathetically. "If you're really feeling out of place, you _may _borrow my top hat."

Artemis sighed and forced down the twitch in his lips for the twelfth time since shaking Adam Levesson's hand six short hours ago. "Would you care for a drink?"

"I've got them here."

Adam pushed two glasses forward, one a thinly necked 'v' of fruit juices, spirits, umbrellas and straws, the other a stocky pint glass of froth-topped pitch.

"That one's yours," said Adam, "seeing as you decided to come dressed as a commoner."

Artemis shook his head one last time and finally allowed his teeth to show past his lips. He glanced at Adam's oak-leaf eyes and decided that he really didn't mind so much if _Adam _were the one to be calling him 'Left Foot' from now on.

"To Jareth McClarent," decided Artemis, raising his Guinness off the table with a smirk.

"To fete marquees," agreed Adam.

"To head butting horses."

"To humongous bags of balls."

A few students' heads whipped around to look towards their booth and Artemis sloshed a fifth of his drink over his cuff.

"To us," murmured Adam at a lower volume, doffing his top hat and plopping it down onto his date's head.

Artemis knocked the hat casually onto the back of his head and clinked his glass against Adam's.

"To two left feet."

* * *

**There we go guys, something a little cheerier than my more recent fare! (well, the ending anyway...)**

**Yeah, 'Left Foot Fowl'. In the UK, a 'left footer' is slang (not used in polite company) for a gay person. This story has existed in various forms in my head since I first read that nickname in the opening chapter extract of TAC and here it finally is!**

**As always, all reviews are appreciated :)**

**P.S. Adam had a fake ID or just got served because it's a student pub (just pre-empting any anonymous, single-sentence, reviews about Irish drinking ages...)**


	21. Cora 04

**Ergh, so here I am writing this again.**

**This is un-beta'd (clearly). **

**Another instalment of Artemis's (incredibly stroppy) daughter...**

* * *

Cora 0.4

_Archimedes 'Cabbage' Fowl was five months old and deeply unhappy. _

"_Archimedes," said Artemis Fowl levelly, "come to me." _

_Cabbage backed away, his blue eyes wide and untrusting. Artemis took another small step forward. _

"_Come now, Archimedes. I've got a treat for you." He held up the bag of wilting lettuce leaves and potato peelings. "If you come to me, I shall give you–"_

"_NO!" screamed a voice from the other room. "NO!"_

_Artemis's head shot up. There was a frantic scratching of trotters on parquet flooring and Cabbage took his chance. Artemis ducked down, cursing, but it was too late. The piglet had shot between his legs and hurtled through the parlour doorway, escaping into the outside corridor._

"_Oh, for Heaven's–!"_

"_NO!" wailed the voice again. "NO!"_

_Artemis stormed from the room. _

_He reached his daughter's bedroom in less than a minute only to find said daughter perched on the edge of a padded ottoman, kicking her tiny legs. _

"_Cora," Butler was saying, his massive form crouched down before her, his face uncharacteristically annoyed. "Stop screaming _now,_ and let me put on your socks."_

_The three-year-old shook her head. "No!" _

"_Cora–"_

"_I don't want to!"_

"_Cora!" snapped Artemis. "Allow Butler to put on your socks this instant!"_

_The little girl shook her head again, her pigtails whipping her cheeks. "No!"_

_Butler sighed and looked back at his ex-charge. "Any luck with the pig?"_

"_None. I had her cornered in the bird room but she managed to escape."_

"_You leave Cabbage alone!" shouted Cora. _

_Her father strode towards her across the duck-pond patterned carpet and the little girl's brow creased into a frown._

"_You, young lady, are trying my patience."_

"_I want to wear my sandals!"_

"_It is _January_."_

"_Your point _being_?"_

_Father and daughter glared at each other. Butler clapped his knees and rose to his full height. _

"_Here," he said, pushing the small ball of cotton socks into Artemis's hands. "You take child, I'll take pig."_

"_My name is not 'child'!" protested Cora. _

_Artemis passed Butler the small bottle which contained Cabbage's medicine. "It must be applied directly into the ear canal," he said. "That is, if you can bloody catch her."_

"_I'll try the West Wing. She's rather partial to the armchair in the scarlet suite."_

"_Yes, that is where I would try."_

_Artemis put his hands on his hips, turning his attention back to his daughter. "Right," he said as Butler left, tincture in hand. "Why are you suddenly so averse to the idea of warm, covered feet?" _

_Cora's bottom lip protruded to an almost comical degree. "I wish to wear my sandals."_

Gods give me strength, _thought Artemis. _

"_And _why_ do you wish to wear your sandals?" he sighed._

"_So we can go on holiday." _

"_Ah."_

"_And! I want to wear my elephant hat today."_

_The elephant hat was a miracle of woollen construction; a small blue cap complete with purple trunk, hairy ears and wide, googly eyes. Artemis had thought it inappropriate garb for a young and impressionable Fowl child when he had first received it in the post (a birthday present for Cora from her Auntie Juliet in Mexico), but both Butler and Cora had judged it spectacular. The old bodyguard had plopped it down onto the three-year-old's head and she had not taken it off for thirteen days straight._

"_The hat we can negotiate," said Artemis, "but socks are a fixed term."_

_Cora's scowl deepened. "Since when did we have a sock contract?"_

_They had a knickers contract, a bedtime contract, and a mashed potato contract – but not a sock contract. _

"_We don't," agreed Artemis, "as of yet. But do I really need to draw one up?" _

_Cora considered this. "I shall agree to wearing the socks… if we go on holiday in the next ten minutes."_

_Artemis sighed. "We are not going on holiday today."_

"_Then I shall wear nothing at all!"_

* * *

**London – East Embankment**

Pauli Garcia Butler's green eyes were slits behind dark, mirrored sunglasses.

"Stay close," warned the woman walking barely two steps ahead of him, "or you shall lose me."

Pauli did not respond. It was 5:15pm on London's East Embankment. It was a Friday afternoon, and his _sensei_ was a four foot child amongst a sea of grey-suited giants.

"_Hurry_," she hissed.

Pauli was by far the _tallest_ grey-suited giant in the crowd; he was seventeen years old and barely an inch off seven-feet tall. People stared as he passed, pointed, gawped, but he was too used to this to allow it to distract him. The sun glared against his sunglasses, a last diurnal insult as the sunset flared just above the horizon, but he still kept Madam Ko firmly in sight.

She stopped suddenly at a crossing and he stopped too. A green man lit up on the other side of the road and she disappeared in the pedestrian surge.

_Always keep your eyes on her, _said his mother's voice in his head. _She's a slippery bitch when she wants to be, and_ o_n my test she managed to switch herself with a decoy. She was out of my sight for barely twenty seconds but I still failed…_

Pauli wrenched down the man's shoulder in front of him.

"Hey!" protested the man.

Madam Ko was immediately put back in his eye line, and if he wasn't mistaken, a small smirk was playing about her lips.

"What's your problem?" demanded the man in his grip.

Pauli pushed him gently but firmly aside and strode after his _sensei. _He heard the man complaining behind him but thought no more about it. Madam Ko was walking north now, and so must he. Suddenly, she turned sharply to the left, heading towards an underground tube entrance: a bottle-neck of afternoon commuters and newspapervendors.

"_Metro!_" shouted a wart-faced man with a strong cockney accent. "Get 'cha _Metro '_ere!"

Pauli was forced to pull aside a few more of the grey-suited crowd to keep sight of his mistress.

"Watch out!" complained a bespectacled man.

"Get your hands off me!" demanded a bleach-haired woman.

Pauli ignored them both. Madam Ko was already on the station escalator, descending into the bustle of the tube station at large. He passed easily by the other commuters, who were all uniformly sticking to the left leaving the right lane free.

"Madam," he said quietly as he reached her shoulder.

She nodded in acknowledgement and approached the turnstile. One flash of her travel card and she was through. The barriers were sturdy, dinted metal, guarded by policemen with dogs and machine guns, and Pauli had not had a chance to purchase a ticket.

_If you need something, just get it, _said his uncle's gravelly voice in his head.

Pauli pressed the ticket he had stolen earlier from the bespectacled man's pocket and pressed it the scanner. He slipped sideways through the clanking metal turnstile.

The air below was hot, thick, blasted into his face in smothering waves as he followed Madam Ko to her chosen platform. They had to wait barely a minute before their train arrived, and both stepped reasonably easily aboard.

"We shall have to change at Bakerloo," said Madam Ko, taking a seat beside an obese thirty-something in a tracksuit, "unless I change my mind."

Pauli nodded. He was busy giving everyone in the carriage their second look over.

"You have done well, young Butler," said the Japanese woman, "much better than your mother. She was a simpleton, unfit to sweep carpets at my school. She was a shame to your family."

This was water off a duck's back for Pauli who had long since had any pride or temper trained out of him in Madame Ko's school. He was retreating into his 'happy place', letting emotions take a back seat to instinct and training.

He found himself staring at a nervous-looking man at the end of the carriage who was gripping one strap of his backpack with white knuckles.

"Now," said Madam Ko, "_you_ are exemplary. I am glad your mother survived my school if only to go on to give birth to you. Lying on her back and baring children – that is all she is good for."

The man wiped shaking fingers against his sweaty lip.

"Stupid. Ill-disciplined. Weak."

Pauli felt the blood begin to pound in his frontal lobe.

_Trust your instincts, _said his uncle's voice, _they're rarely wrong_.

"Excuse me, Madam," interrupted Pauli, grabbing his _sensei_ under the arms and carrying her, toddler-like, to the opposite carriage doors.

"What are you doing?" demanded Madam Ko. "Put me down this instance!"

The other occupants began to look up from their books, phones and newspapers. His _sensei's_ hand delivered a sharp downwards chop to Pauli's forearm which would have left an average man with a broken arm and eyes blurred from tears. Pauli took it with barely a clench of his jaw.

"It is for your own safety, Ma'am," he said, stepping through into the next carriage.

More bewildered faces greeted him there and he scanned the coach for optional escape routes.

"Is that _your _old woman?" asked a spotty young man accusingly.

"Yes," replied the trainee bodyguard.

Pauli shifted the screaming Japanese woman under one arm and pulled out his Sig Sauer: a belated fifteenth birthday present from his uncle in Ireland. More than one person in the carriage screamed. A man with another backpack, and the same whitened, terrified expression as the man in the previous carriage, met Pauli's gaze. He was muttering under his breath, whispering, perhaps praying. He was reaching a shaking hand towards a strange strap on his bag.

Pauli turned his gun arm 180 degrees and shot at the train window between the heads of two petrified adolescents. The glass shattered. And despite the fact that the train was travelling at forty-five miles-per-hour, and that there was nothing to land on but hard concrete and gravel, and he had a protesting octogenarian stuffed beneath his arm, Pauli leapt through it.

He hit the ground hard, taking most of the impact to his shoulder and spine, keeping Madam Ko wrapped in his arms. As soon the world stopped jerking, he was up, adrenaline numbing him to the pain of his potential injuries, to the yowling of his life-long teacher, and cupping the old woman hurriedly beneath him.

Ten seconds later, the rear end of the train exploded.

* * *

**Fowl Manor**** – **Ireland

"It is going to be so awesome," gushed the female voice at the end of the telephone. "Seriously, I reckon that if we get there early enough we could get on barrier, and then we might even get to _touch _her."

Cora smiled, lying on her back across her silk duvet cover. "I doubt it, Tilly. There'll be twenty bodyguards between us and her even if we _do_ get on barrier."

"You'll get us through! I know you will! You've got a _way _with people…"

The fifteen-year-old smirked wryly and allowed a few sparks of magic to spill, fountain-like, from the end of her long index finger. "I can't make any promises, Tilly…"

Cora Fowl had the pale skin of her aristocratic father but the muscles and hair of her police-trained mother. She danced like her grandmother, laughed like her uncle, and could nip like the local farmer's dog. Quick to anger, she could win almost any argument she set her mind (and fists) to, but would almost always regret the fight after her blood had cooled. She had many friends, but only a few close companions, and once she was told a secret it was well-known that it would never pass her lips again.

"Well, whatever," said Tilly, her oldest school friend, "five metres should be close enough. You'll just have to keep a hold on me in the crowd; I don't want to lose you… Have you asked your dad yet, by the way?"

Cora frowned slightly, plucking at the bottom of her vest top. "No. But he'll say yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. He used to do all kinds of crazy stuff when he was my age; he'll have no excuse not to let me go to a _concert_."

_He really won't, _she thought.

"What kinds of crazy stuff?" asked Tilly, her voice picking up. "_Sexy _stuff?"

"_No, _just… teenager stuff. You're so _gross_, woman… But he _will_ let me, honestly. We just might have to take Dom."

"But that's no problem. He's massive. We could both just sit on his shoulders if we don't get on barrier; we'll have the best seats in the house."

"And a lot of angry people stood behind us."

Annie could almost hear her friend's shrug. "Fuck 'em."

They both laughed and Cora heard someone enter Tilly's bedroom and speak to her.

"I've got to go," said Tilly, the receiver crackling slightly as she put the phone back to her mouth. "My father's back for the weekend and apparently he's still really shook up."

"What? Why?"

"Haven't you heard? There was a fake terrorist attack on the underground today. Some eejit blew up the back of a tube carriage."

"_What?"_

"I know. Nobody was injured. They're saying it was just a film crew doing a stunt but nobody notified London transport so there were just normal people on the train too. It caused all sorts of panic."

"Jesus..."

"But anyway, I'll speak to you later, alright? _Ask your dad."_

"Yes. I will. 'Night."

"'Night."

Cora disconnected.

"Have you heard about the train explosion in London?" she asked later, walking into her father's office.

"Hmm?" he said, looking up from his desk and swivelling his chair. "Oh. Yes. Butler was telling me about it."

Artemis Fowl the Second was aging extremely well. His hair was dark and glossy except for the large iron patches surrounding his temples, but they had been a constant feature for as long as Cora could remember. His eyes were only slightly wrinkled at the corners, his hands a little creased and sometimes a little too dry, but overall, for a nearing-forty-year-old, Artemis Fowl was in particularly good nick. Cora had begun to resent this a little lately. Her friends had begun their 'older man' phase and were commenting more and more on how 'distinguished and handsome' her father looked.

"_He's ancient!"_ she would tell them.

"_He's fine!" _they would reply.

To her he was just her dad: her stuffy, ice-eyed yet patient, dad; clever, yes, but boring, safe; a million miles away from the teenaged criminal renegade in all of Dom's stories. If it weren't for the magic that could blossom like summer flowers from the tips of her fingers, she would have thought that they were all a joke. Just fairy tales.

"They're saying it was a film crew," she said, walking across the Persian carpet, her toes pressing into the Tree of Life motif, "but what was it really?"

Artemis smiled. "A test."

"Did whoever pass?"

"We think so." He sighed and rubbed the wood of his desk. "Butler certainly hopes so."

Cora wanted to know more, but decided she could always investigate later. Better to cut straight to the chase than get lost in a cryptic conversation with her father. She didn't want to be there all night.

"Um… Dad?"

"Um, yes?" he replied, looking back at her.

She started to fidget with her fingers before forcing herself to stop. "It's not really a big deal… but _The_ _Jericho Bandits_ are playing in Chicago next weekend and Tilly's got us tickets and it's only for that night because it's their break-up tour and…"

Artemis Fowl's face grew serious.

"…We've got the hotel sorted already, it's in the middle of the city, Tilly's dad has stayed there loads with business so–"

"Get to the point, Cora," he said quietly.

"Can I go?"

Artemis studied her for a moment, his expression sombre… And then he brushed a hand back through his thick hair.

"It's not a school night," said Cora quickly, recognising the gesture. "And I thought I could take Dom with me–"

Artemis interrupted. "Butler is _not_ going to a rock concert in Chicago, Cora."

"Well, okay, I'll be fine with Tilly then. We'll be in a very reputable part of town and–"

The forty-year-old was shaking his head.

"Dad, _please,_" begged Cora, her nails digging into the armrest of his chair. "It will be our last chance to see her, _please._"

Artemis looked pained. "Cora…"

_He's not letting me, _she thought. _He's not going to let me. _

She took a sharp step back from him, her blue eyes flashing. "_How _can you say no?"

Artemis's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"What were _you _doing when you were my age? Probably… chasing around some troll army in Tunisia with only a spoon and a fire extinguisher or… or _something_. I only want to go to a sodding _concert!_"

"Language," said Artemis levelly, "and you want to go to a concert in _Chicago_ at age _fifteen_ unaccompanied."

"I said that Dom could come with me!"

"And I said _no_. That would be extremely unfair to him."

"_Why?_ He's a bodyguard isn't he? That's what he was trained to do!"

Her father's expression darkened. "He was _my_ bodyguard for twenty years, Cora," he said, in a tone that she had heard only three times before in her life and never directed towards herself. "He laid down his life for this family, more than once, and he deserves our utmost respect in his retirement. You will _not _treat him like some faithful dog to be dragged across continents for your own convenience."

Cora's cheeks flushed. "I didn't _say_ that!" she snapped, anger and shame pooling in her stomach. "I _wouldn't_ say that! You know I would never–"

He was turning back to his desk. "I have said no, Cora. That is the end of it."

Cora just stood there, breathing heavily. She could feel her magic bubbling under the surface of her skin. She wanted nothing more than to wrench his chair back around, to scream in his smug face. This was so unfair. He was _always_ sounfair. She hadn't said _anything _aboutButler! And it was _Chicago, _hardly a bloody Mafia hostage exchange!

"You're…You're such a hypocrite!" she blurted.

Artemis didn't move. "Do you really wish to continue this?"

It was a quiet and none too subtle warning.

Cora didn't take it.

"Dom's _told_ me all about what you did when you were my age," she persisted, sparks sputtering at her fingertips, burning tiny holes in the tops of her socks as they fell, "how you always did whatever you wanted_. _You could just click your fingers, get in the jet, and Dom would take you all over the world!"

Artemis had turned back to face her. He was listening to his daughter with a fixed, patient expression, his long fingers steepled in his lap.

"I can't even go to _Tilly's_ without telling you_,_" she was yelling, her red hair swinging. "I go five steps out the front door and you're _on _me, 'Where are you going? How long will you be? Who will you be with?'"

Artemis almost laughed. "Oh, I do apologise for caring."

"It's not _caring _though, is it?" spat Cora. "It is a complete lack of _trust_. You think I'm still a little girl. I am _fifteen._"

"Practically middle-aged."

"_Stop it! _Stop _mocking _me!"

"I apologise again."

"_Shut up!"_

Her father's smile dropped.

"Just _shut up_! _Christ_! You're so in love with the sound of your own voice! I don't understand how anyone can _stick_ you!"

"No one could," Artemis said, his eyes suddenly as cold as the winds whistling through the trees outside. "Why else do you think I spent my childhood globe-trotting with only a paid servant for a companion?"

This brought Cora up short. "You… you could do _anything,_" she insisted, recovering quickly. "You didn't have anyone pulling you back–"

"And wasn't that terrible?"

"No," she said immediately. "You were free–"

"I was incredibly lonely."

"You had _adventures._ You found _fairies–_"

"Due to my own desperation and selfishness."

"Because you were _clever._"

"Because I was a little fool."

Cora felt close to tears. "It's… you… It's a _concert, _Dad!"

"And I have said no! _No, _Cora."

"Oh my God! Grandma and Grandad would have allowed _you_!"

"Most probably," agreed Artemis, with a strange laugh. "They made _numerous_ parental decisions which, now that I am a parent myself, I shall _never_ quite be able to fathom… But they are irrelevant right now. And you are still not going."

For the fourth time in her life Cora Fowl was severely tempted to use the _Mesmer _on her father. It was forbidden, of course. She would be grounded for a decade but… but it was _The Bandits… _

"Don't even think about it," said Artemis simply.

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments… and then Cora was flying from the room, slamming the antique door behind her. Sparks erupted at the hinges and Artemis was forced to flinch back in his chair as the whole door creaked before falling flat to the floor with a _crash. _

"_Cora!_" he bellowed, his face turning puce. "_Cora Evangeline Fowl, get back in here!"_

"_No!" _came the distant shriek.

Cora was hurtling down the main stairway, the carpet fibres crisping beneath her feet as she walked. She knew that would be something else her father would be screaming at her for later but right now she couldn't give a nun's fart. She reached the main hall in a blaze of fury, not noticing the strange, giant figure towering in her path until his hands had clamped around her forearms, just stopping her from crashing into him.

"Careful, miss," said the giant, in a soft, slightly accented voice.

She wrenched herself away from him.

"Who the hell are–?"

"Cora?" interrupted her father's bodyguard, who Cora finally noticed was stood beside the stranger. "What's wrong? What have you done?"

"Oh yeah," she spat, recoiling from her life-long carer, the memory of her father's accusation still strong, "just automatically take _his _side! I'm going out. I'll be back later–"

Butler reached out and took her by the arm. "Hey, slow down. I want you to–"

"_Cora!"_ shouted a voice from the floor above.

Cora pulled herself away again.

"Miss," said the giant, as she reached for the door. "You are not wearing any shoes."

Cora finally looked at him properly.

He had close-cropped blonde hair and skin like toughened leather. Cora guessed that he was young, in his early twenties perhaps, but on a second look she thought that he could have been older; his face was unlined but his green eyes were solemn; they had far too much depth in them to belong to someone less than forty. He was dressed in a dark suit, non-descript, with a pair of designer sunglasses tucked into the outside pocket.

Cora snorted. "You're in Ireland, you know. You won't have much use for those here."

"_Cora!" _bellowed her father's angry voice again.

"They're specially modified, Miss. My uncle said they might come in handy."

"Uncle?"

Butler smiled, clapping a hand on the man's broad shoulder, careful to avoid the hidden bandages he knew were covering a fresh diamond tattoo. "This is my nephew, Cora. You met before, when you were younger..."

And then Cora realised. The brief image of a gangly boy, with knobbly knees and a face wrinkled with pain, flashed in her mind's eye. "_Madre Dios,_" she whispered.

Pauli nodded. "_Hola, Señorita."_

* * *

_Butler found Cabbage in the West Wing curled up in the aforementioned armchair. _

"_There you are, you little bugger," he muttered, clomping across the shag-pile carpet. _

_Cabbage just panted warily at him as Butler lifted him into bulky arms. Apparently too exhausted to protest, the errant porker let the ex-bodyguard pore the medicine into his ears with barely a wheeze in reply._

"_Done," declared Butler, setting the piglet down again. "Now wasn't that a load of fuss over nothing?"_

_Cabbage looked guiltily up at him and Butler couldn't help but crack a smile. He still wished they'd gone for a lurcher, but teacup pigs did have a certain appeal. They ate scraps and Cabbage was gentle with Cora… and if things didn't work out, he would still make a delectable _fricassée_. _

_Butler sighed and walked out of the parlour, Cabbage snorting and trotting along in his wake. Artemis Senior stepped out of a room just up ahead, yawning and carrying a morning newspaper under his arm. He spotted Butler and smiled. _

"_Ah, there you are, old boy. What was all that racket about earlier? I thought I heard my granddaughter screaming fit to burst!" _

"_Socks, sir," replied the ex-bodyguard. "She didn't fancy them this morning." _

"_Ah. Didn't Artemis go through a similar phase at her age?"_

"_That was Beckett, sir. Artemis had the toothpaste thing."_

"_Oh, yes, I remember now. Angeline was most concerned at one stage."_

"_As was his music teacher."_

_Artemis Senior chuckled and stroked a hand against his short silver beard. "I remember that woman. She had a voice that could have cut glass..." The old man frowned. "I still don't understand why he doesn't just hire some help, Butler. He is with her practically twenty-four seven!" He looked seriously at his son's ex-bodyguard. "All his talents, his work skills… With a little spare time he could put those brains of his back to work. He was once a genius, Butler..."_

"_And still is, sir. He still invents."_

"_Oh, yes," said the old man impatiently, flicking the comment away with one hand as if it were some irksome house fly. "I've seen him doodling on the corners of colouring books, sketching with crayons between potty breaks and nap times… But it isn't the same, Butler, and you know it! He's hiding himself away, wasting himself! And that bloody pig!" _

_Cabbage choose that moment to scramble past Artemis Senior, wheezing excitedly. _

"_Come here, boy!" called an infant voice up ahead. "Come here, piggy!"_

_A giggling Cora was almost bowled over as Cabagge careened into her legs. _

"_Artemis?" said Artemis Senior seriously, quickening his pace up the corridor. "We must really talk about that bloody swine of hers. I appreciate that Cora wanted a pet but must it really spend most of its time in _our _end of the house–?" _

_Artemis Fowl the Second came into view up the corridor and turned to look dreamily at his father. Artemis Senior stopped mid-stride. Gone were the days when a suit and tie were the only items of clothing his son would ever be caught in. Babies and formal business attire were not compatible, and so something had had to give. Three years ago, the world-renowned genius had swapped his dinner jackets for a wardrobe-full of practical polo shirts, and his scuffable, beautiful loafers for trainers that could be put on with a few quick stamps. It had been quite a shock when he had descended the manor's main stairway one morning with his arms full of Harrods clothing bags. _

"_These are for mother," he had said. "I understand she's taking a few cases of old clothes to St Michael's?" _

"_Yes," his father had said uneasily as his son had dumped the bags at his feet, "but these are all your _suits_, Artemis. What are you doing with them? Are you donating them _all_?"_

"_I no longer need them anymore," his son had replied simply, and headed back upstairs in the direction of a high infant's wail. _

"_Artemis?" gasped Artemis Senior, shocked once more. "What on _Earth_ are you doing?" _

_His son was dressed in a pair of bright swimming trunks, several bulging beach bags clamped under his arms and a giant sun hat, which he appeared to have borrowed from his mother, perched atop his raven head._

"_We're going to the Caribbean!" announced Cora, who was also dressed for the sun in a mismatched bikini top and bottoms. "And Daddy's going to fly us all there!"_

_Butler and Artemis Senior stared at the Fowl Heir._

"_The Caribbean?" repeated Butler finally._

"_To see dolphins," confirmed Artemis in a strange, slow voice, his vision unfocused. _

"_Are you on drugs?" hissed Artemis Senior. _

"_We're going to the beach, Grandad!" trilled Cora, pulling at the sleeve of his dressing gown. "Would you like to come? Daddy will fly the jet!"_

_Butler stepped up to his ex-charge and gripped him on either side of his head. "Look at me," he commanded. _

_Artemis swayed dreamily. "Dophins," he slurred, as the bodyguard inspected his misshapen irises. "We shall ride them over the waves and swim with all the mermaids…" _

_The manservant swore under his breath. _

"_Look," giggled Cora, drawing Butler's attention. "Grandad said he's coming too!" _

_Artemis Senior was beaming dopily. "We shall all build sandcastles," he announced, waving his newspaper grandly, "and sing!"_

_Butler calmly plucked the sunglasses from atop his ex-charge's magnificent sun hat and placed them over his eyes. _

"_Cora," he said, "come here."_

_The three-year-old sidled towards him, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. _

"_I know you'd like to come too, Dommy," she said, in the voice of a thousand children's choirs. "You love the beach!"_

_Even safe behind the mirrored lenses, Butler felt the potency of her magic. It didn't help that this was Artemis' and Holly's daughter, and he loved her more than perhaps anyone on Earth. _

"_Cora," he said, softly but firmly, kneeling down so his was nearer her level. "You need to take the spell off Daddy."_

"_Spell?" she repeated, obviously confused. "I can't do spells. I'm not a witch."_

"_You need to tell Daddy and Grandad that they can do what they want to do."_

_The little girl's face puckered. "But I want to go on holiday!"_

_Butler jammed his eyes shut, feeling her magic increase his heart rate by a few beats._

"_I know. I know. But not today, Cora. Right now, you need to release Daddy and Grandad."_

"_No! I want to go on holiday!"_

_Butler swallowed. "Cora," he said softly, "this is very important."_

_The People were in the forefront of Butler's mind now. If Cora could not control her magic then they would find out, and they would take her. That was part of the deal Holly and Artemis had struck. Butler could feel the heat radiating from her skinny arms as her breath began to hitch. Cabbage whined and trotted to hide under a nearby trestle table. _

"_I-I h-haven't d-done a-any _spells!"

"_Hush_," _whispered Butler, pulling her closer so she was cradled in the cave of his torso._ _"I know. But do you feel… do you feel hot, Cora? Do you feel really warm?"_

_She nodded tearfully. _

"_Then we need to make that feeling go away. You need… to think cool thoughts, Shortcake. Cool thoughts."_

"_L-Like… about ice cream?" _

"_Yes! Exactly! Think about Ice cream! What else do you know that's cold?"_

"_Snow."_

"_Yep, that's a good one."_

"_The fridge!"_

"_Yes."_

"_Norway!"_

"_Yes, definitely. Is that working, Shortcake? Are you feeling colder?"_

"_A little bit…"_

_She was calming down, and her cheeks were slowly losing their flush. Butler swept a palm against her forehead. There was a slight, alien buzzing feeling against him hand, but it too was quietening. _

"_I'll tell you what," he said. "Shall we go to the kitchen and make some iced smoothies?" _

"_Can I have pomegranate?" she asked feebly. _

"_Yes. As long as you promise to keep thinking those cool thoughts."_

_She nodded and toddled away, all thoughts of the Caribbean temporarily forgotten. "I'll race you to the kitchen!" she told him, Cabbage piling after her. _

_Butler sighed, clasped his knees, and straightened to his full height. He walked closer to Cora's father and surveyed him a moment, taking in the sun hat and the vacant expression. _

"_Well," he said, after a moment. "I suppose I'm not your bodyguard anymore."_

_And he slapped him, open-palmed, across his right cheek. _

_Artemis rocketed back to his senses. "Ah!" he yelled, staggering back a few paces, the beach bags dropping from under his arms. "Jesus, Butler! What do you think–?" And then he realised what he was wearing. "Oh gods," he whispered, still clutching a hand to his reddening face. "Cora mesmerised me."_

"_She did indeed," said Butler. "Now, do you want to slap your father or shall I?"_

_Artemis looked at his elder, who was swaying absently and humming Cliff Richard to himself._

"_Cora mesmerised us," repeated Artemis. "That can't happen again, Butler."_

_The old man sighed. "Then what do you suggest? We wear sunglasses everywhere? The contacts?"_

"_We must instil in her that she must _never_ mesmerise a family member… or anyone else, for that matter," he added worriedly." At least until she truly has control of her abilities. We can't risk her drawing the attention of our underground… friends." _

_The bodyguard smiled wryly. "She's a three-year-old child, Artemis. She had no idea what she was doing."_

_They were quiet for a moment, deep in mutually dark and threatening thoughts. _

"_Fun and laughter on our summer holiday," sang Artemis Senior, "no more worries for me and you, for a week or two."_

_Artemis drew back his hand._

* * *

**Can't help a it of Art Senior bashing - literally.**

**Please review!**

**And please go back a step and review the last chapter too because that got less than half the usual reviews... :( **


End file.
